


Of Angels and Shining Armor

by cat_77



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, SO MUCH FLUFF, general season 1 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: A not-quite-one-night-stand from his past tosses something far more than a case in Malcolm’s direction.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & team, Past Malcolm Bright/Other
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Write kidfic? Surely you jest.
> 
> * * *

“That can’t be good,” JT muttered as he looked across the bullpen. 

Malcolm followed his gaze to spot the familiar over-styled brows and permanent scowl of one Colette Swanson barreling though the usual spotty crowd. She was still in her usual impeccable suit with not a hair out of place, but there was something off about her, an almost frantic energy despite the way she fought to show absolutely no outward emotion.

The others didn’t stop him nor did they immediately move to greet her themselves, so Bright took it upon himself to rise above their differences and walked over to her. “Agent Swanson,” he said with forced cheeriness.

“Where is she? Tell me you have her!” the agent in question shot right back at him.

“Who? What are you talking about?” he asked, truly confused.

She eyed him up and down, read him as easily as he read the panic in her dark eyes, in the way she clenched her jaw just a little too hard. “You don’t know, do you?” she finally managed. There was despair now, just a flicker of an expression before she tried to control her tells.

“Which is probably why he’s asking,” Dani chimed in from where she had now joined them. Swanson had not exactly made any friends with the Major Crimes Unit during her last visit, nor with Dani in particular. They had managed to maintain a level of professionalism, but not much more. She glanced at Bright, a silent check in to make sure he was doing okay, and then refocused her attention on the woman before them.

“Vanessa,” she finally spat. “I take it she never stopped by?”

Malcolm was taken aback, that name that last thing he expected to fall from her lips. “Nessa? I haven’t seen her, let alone spoke to her in…”

“Almost three years,” Colette finished for him. She paused and took a fortifying breath, and when she next spoke almost held the air of a trained agent once more. She dug out a large, legal sized envelope from the briefcase she carried and recited, “Vanessa Monroe, former special agent that had been assigned to the Newark office prior to retirement from the field due to personal reasons. An attempted hack and break-in were tied to her, documents and weapons stolen, mostly locations of safehouses with gear that were easily locked down. I visited her apartment to discover she had let the lease run out last week. What I discovered there is the same that arrived in my own mailbox yesterday morning.”

Malcolm took the envelope as the offering it was and carefully opened it to examine its contents. He read, then reread, and was about to reread again, before JT said, “I don’t think the words are going to change, bro.”

He waved the papers back towards Colette, half in an attempt to give them back and half in disbelief. “Is this… Are these real?”

“Signed, notarized, and filed,” she confirmed. “Verifying them caused the day delay in arriving here. In looking here for her.”

JT wrinkled his nose beside him. “Why would this Vanessa stop by here? The letter literally says not to try to find her.” Clearly he had read at least the top page over Malcolm’s shoulder despite his feigned disinterest.

“It’s not Vanessa I’m looking for, but Angelica,” Colette corrected. She tugged the page Bright had tried to conceal free for the others to glance at. “His daughter.”

Hearing the words made the world drop out from underneath him. If Dani hadn’t leaned just a little to the right and JT a little to the left, he probably would have toppled over. “She… She never told me,” he whispered. “It was, well, not one night, but… I swear the last time I spent any time with her was that case in Wichita!”

“And I believe she may have made a point of that,” Colette told him with what counted as sympathy for her.

“But, why?” he asked, and hated that his voice broke a little when he did so. Hated it more when his nemesis let him have the moment without using it as a point of attack.

Colette paused and took a telling breath. “I- I kept track of her for a while after she left the bureau,” she admitted. “I suspected Angelica’s parentage, more so based upon a few under the breath comments Vanessa made the rare times we conversed. I believe she blamed quite a lot on you. There were references to damage done, and to your family.”

He ran a free hand over his face, not sure if he was happy or not when there was no wetness there. “If she had told me, I could’ve… I could have helped her out in some way. Even if she didn’t want me involved beyond financially. I could have helped.”

“This is not the time to dwell on that,” Colette snapped, but only with a fraction of her usual abrasiveness. “Currently, as I see it, there is a missing child that needs to be found. Everything else is inconsequential. We find Angelica. We verify she is unharmed. Then, and only then, do we delve into all of your personal traumas and how you managed to fuck up my ex’s life.”

Malcolm knew that his own team now better understood some of the drama between Colette and himself. Nessa hadn’t been with Colette during their case, during their liaison if that’s what it was to be called. The two had gone through a rocky patch and split up and Bright was the rebound, one that was that much more of a find because Colette and he had already been rivals from back at the academy. 

Weeks in tiny rental motel rooms with little to do but scan through readouts and watch the grass grow meant they were bored more than anything else. There had been no romance, no actual feelings, especially when Nessa discovered the truth about him. His night terrors weren’t as bad then, what with not having seen his father for seven years at that point. But one struck and she poked her head in to check on him. He made the mistake of opening up to her and she made it clear that any extra-curricular activities were done and over. They finished the case and moved on. Or at least he had thought they had.

Though he clearly had a major stake in the current events, Colette did not try to push him off of the attempts to find the child. His child, if the contents of the envelope were to be believed. The four of them took over the conference room and shifted the files laden with the Bronx strangulation case they had solved the night before to the far end of the table, Gil joining them within minutes. Arroyo kept trying to shoot him looks, whether of sympathy or concern he couldn’t tell, mainly because he refused to meet his gaze. He really did not need his surrogate father figure judging him for some bad life choices that possibly put an innocent in danger at the given moment. Not that he had known that innocent even existed prior to the day’s events, but that was beside the point.

“Would she have tried something obvious?” Dani asked, cutting into his thoughts.

Colette’s laser focus turned to her as though it was meant as a personal insult. Swanson would have run through all the scenarios, likely and not, and to say otherwise was a cut against her.

Gil decided to be the diplomatic one and asked, “What do you mean, Powell?”

Dani gestured to the papers and what they held. “She seems to want Bright to find his kid. She’s literally telling him that she intends for him to assume responsibility. Could she have, I don’t know, left her at the Milton place? A statement against everything she struggled with up until now?”

“Trust me when I say that my phone would be ringing off the hook right now if my mother needed to deal with a toddler,” Bright replied with little humor. Jessica Whitly was many things, many good and caring things, but she had hired nannies for a reason, and that was before the day drinking.

“Not at the precinct, not at your mom’s fancy digs… What about yours?” JT asked. At the looks he received, he clarified, “We need a place to start and I’m thinking either your loft or Claremont and I’d like to think any sort of mother wouldn’t just abandon a baby with some psychopathic murderers.”

Which is how he found himself standing on the busy street next to his recently re-graffitied door. His recently re-graffitied door that appeared shut to the outside world but whose tumblers spun freely in the lock.

Both Gil and Colette reached for their weapons, but instinct told him that if Nessa was there it would be to chuck insults at him and not bullets. He motioned them behind him and Colette took a step to the side while Gil bodily gripped his shoulder with his free hand, ready to haul him back if necessary.

It wasn’t necessary.

He opened the door to reveal a presence on the step, just like he had feared, but it wasn’t Vanessa, it was Angelica herself. Tiny, filthy, her brown hair in knotted pigtails and her striped shirt smeared with the former contents of the candy bar wrapper beside her. Tethered to the railing with a mixture of rope and handcuffs. 

Colette swore and Gil muttered something about calling ESU. Malcolm ignored them both and focused instead on the little girl before him. The child with Nessa’s curls and his eyes and the smaller than average frame, not that he was an expert on such things. The child who was clearly underweight even for that frame, and who had one hand stuck up in the air where it was latched to the wood and metal, sleeve pushed back enough to read the scrawl of Sharpie across her skin where it read: Property of Malcolm Whitly.

“Keys,” he demanded. He held out his hand expectantly and, when nothing was forthcoming, he seethed, “We either see if the universal key works on these cuffs or we call Dani to pick the lock, but we are getting her out of those things now.” The alternative was to break the railing itself, but he would really like for his first impression with his daughter to not involve the destruction of property. He also refused to let it be him holding a knife beside her to cut the rope, something he was fairly certain would be traumatizing to all.

Two sets of keys dropped into his palm and he took a hesitant step forward to crouch in front of the child. “Hi, sweetie. My name is Malcolm. I’m going to try to get your arm out of these, okay?” he said in as pleasant of a tone as he could manage given the way his blood was boiling beneath his skin.

The pale eyes blinked up at him, a tiny fist covered with hopefully only chocolate already headed towards her mouth.

The key worked on the first try. Well, technically second as his hands shook so much he barely got the stupid thing into the lock. He tossed them back blindly with the knowledge Gil and Colette would know which set belong to them, and then worked on unraveling the rope that helped keep the massive things on a not-so-massive form. The tiny wrist beneath it all was slightly red, but no tears, no bruises, no actual damage that he could see, and he thanked the universe for small favors.

He fought all of his instincts that screamed at him to scoop her up and hide her away from the world, and sat down beside her on the stairs instead. There was a pink and purple backpack embroidered with her first name two steps up, the curve of a legal-style envelope rolled to fit within poking out against the open zipper. There was the definite whiff of a soiled diaper but, with a toddler, he couldn’t be sure if that happened minutes or hours before. He only knew that he left his loft just before nine that morning and it was now somewhere near three in the afternoon, and the child had been deposited there sometime in that timespan.

“Can you tell me your name?” he asked, just to try to engage her.

Colette spoke for the first time since their arrival. “She doesn’t really speak,” she warned. She cleared her throat, and clarified, “She seems to understand, but Nessa complained… um… she complained it was another sign that Angelica had inherited your ‘broken Whitly ways’ as she put it the last time I called, which was less than a month ago. I hadn’t kept in touch with her as much as I should have. Maybe I would have seen this coming, found a way to stop it before it reached this point.”

Malcolm nodded to acknowledge her words, but refused to take his eyes off the prize before him. “That’s okay,” he promised. Then, in an almost whisper of conspiration, “I didn’t talk for a few months either. Mind you, a lot of that was due to a man I hope you never ever meet, but it’s okay to keep all the important bits inside.”

“Do you know if it’s medically related, or psychological?” Gil questioned.

“Given how many meds I was on, I am on, and Vanessa’s own provocations, the fact that she could even be created, could even be born, is amazing,” Malcolm told him in the same soft voice he had been using with Angelica. He turned his attention back to the little girl, not that it ever really left. “Sometimes, people just don’t have much to say. Sometimes, it all comes out at once. It’s okay, whatever way you choose, okay, sweetie?”

He received a smile full of chocolate and miniscule teeth for his efforts and it was the best reward he had ever attained. He carefully reached to the bag and took a peek inside to find another candy bar, some crackers, and a sippy cup of what might have been juice or Gatorade. There was a handful of clothing, a half-empty packet of wipes, and precisely two diapers that he could find in his quick purview.

“You’re going to need more than that,” Gil huffed. The detective turned to the agent beside him and asked, “If I run to the bodega, do you promise to not try to kill him?”

Colette pursed her lips as she promised, “I can try.” She paused before she added, “I know you want ESU, but can we get out of the stairwell and maybe find some soap and water? Maybe treat her like a human being first?”

Bright turned back to the child, his daughter if the paperwork was to be believed, and asked, “Angelica, did you want to come upstairs with me? I have a bird that would love to meet you.”

His hand was gripped by chubby chocolate-covered fingers, and he took that as a yes.

By the time Gil returned with multiple plastic bags filled with diapers and other unknown items, Colette and Malcolm had managed to wash hands and face and even change the existing diaper into something clean. Malcolm may have, possibly, taken great glee in watching the usually stoic agent try to manage the little sticky tabs with her perfect manicure, even if Colette had looked pointedly at his usually trembling hand before even making the offer. He may have, possibly, also been grateful that the child was distracted enough by Sunshine to let them get as far as they did.

Gil did not come alone. Dani and JT were at his side, each bearing gifts of their own. JT brought a green silken pillow and blanket that Malcolm knew for a fact had been in his own nursery meaning Tally had approved the gifting. Dani brought a brush, hair ties, and a giant bottle of detangler as well as one of the department-issued emergency child car seats for the inevitable trip to the hospital.

He wanted to do it all. The washing and the brushing and the caring that he had been denied and had possibly been denied to the child herself, he couldn’t be sure. But Gil held him back and he understood why. If he bonded, this quickly, this completely, only to discover it had all been some gigantic rouse, it would be that much more devastating than it already was going to be. That’s why he didn’t argue when Dani pulled out a swab and collected a sample from just inside the rosy little cheeks. The DNA would confirm the truth with far more certainty than a handful of papers and some smeared Sharpie.

That one was headed for Edrisa and Edrisa only. The child herself, now cleaned up to reveal no obvious injuries save for a minor bruise on her knee and a healing scratch on her arm, was to be seen by an actual medical professional. A full exam and full panel of bloodwork were the bare minimum. Social Services arrived and offered to take her to a care center pending investigation, but Malcolm couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that. He waved the paperwork at them and, combined with the cadre of officers behind him, they backed off, at least for the time being. He knew it was a stop gap measure only and so, while Angelica was in the care of the pediatrician, he called his mother and requested access to the family attorneys.

“Please say that you are not in central booking again,” his mother sighed dramatically. 

“I’m good, no arrests or anything” he promised. JT chuckled beside him, but then silenced himself and stood up that tiny bit straighter when Colette dared to venture close enough to try to listen in. “I just want to check the validity of some paperwork I received. I need to know if it would be legally binding in a court of law, or if there are loopholes built in to make it null and void.”

“Our attorneys will find and exploit every loophole,” his mother promised vehemently over the line.

“Actually, I was hoping for the opposite of that,” he admitted in not much more than a mumble. That just confused her more, but he didn’t want to go into details, not yet. If his mother found out about a potential illegitimate child, he knew precisely where her mind would go, and he was not ready to deal with that just yet.

The attorneys were, of course, available immediately if required. The family paid a high enough retainer for that. They agreed to meet him at the hospital, where he hoped to scare off the well-meaning Social Services crew enough to give him time to think. The DNA results would still take about two days to come back, even on a rush order given the hour if they wanted something definitive, but his legal team would be able to provide options for what type of say he would and would not have over the child whether or not they shared a bloodline. 

It was too much to hope for that they would come alone. Jessica Whitly strode in with a phalanx of suited beings behind her, making quite the impression. It was not necessarily a positive one, if the sneer on Colette’s face was to be believed. Malcolm knew how to use wealth and influence when needed. He wasn’t the best at it because he lacked practice and also because he found most of it for show and therefore a little revolting. That said, one thing ingrained in him from an early age was that image was everything and, as much as he hated to admit it, the image his mother made probably sold the story more than any paperwork ever would.

“Mother,” he said with false cheeriness. “You did not need to come.”

She raised one perfect eyebrow in his direction. “The last time you needed legal advice involved murder charges and attempting to get bloodstains out of an eighteenth-century settee. Forgive me if I assume the worse when you are about as forthcoming now as you were then,” she smiled, saccharine sweet.

She literally snapped her fingers and one of the men behind her, Rupert Solanger, the head of the firm, stepped forward. “Please provide the documents for review,” he requested. Malcolm handed over the envelope and the graying man looked pleased. “Good, wet ink signatures are always better than photocopies or electronic,” he nodded, then took them to the side to evaluate with his team.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” his mother prompted. She glanced around at those who were gathered, frowning slightly at Swanson, and then turned her razor-sharp gaze back to her son. If Malcolm remembered correctly, she had met the other woman once, when said other woman questioned her about the attack in her own home and how she had not realized her son had been held captive in the equivalent of the basement. It had not gone well.

He opened his mouth to reply, to come up with something, to stall if nothing else. Of course, that’s when a nurse in cheery scrubs covered in hot pink teddy bears and a name tag that declared her Brenda came around the corner and said, “Mr. Bright? We are done with the exam if you would like to be with your daughter.”

His mother blinked. Then blinked again. Her jaw slackened slightly in disbelief. It was the most dumbfounded he had ever seen her save for the time he tried to explain why he and Vijay had a three-week reprimand for a certain stunt they had pulled that may or may not have gotten a jerk of a teacher to lose his tenure. 

He didn’t even get the opportunity to fully appreciate the expression. “This is what we are attempting to confirm,” is all he told her before he strode past. One of the lawyers attempted to follow and he spun on his heel to hold a single finger up in warning. Dani and JT stepped in to block the doorway, mainly because Gil was busy with his mother.

He walked in to find Angelica perched on the small step that led to the exam bed. She had what looked to be an entire roll of stickers proclaiming that she had done a good job and was methodically removing them from the protective backing and placing them on any available bit of clothing, one by one. She looked up when he entered, smiled, and then returned to her self-appointed task.

“How is she?” he asked the nurse, who appeared to be waiting for precisely that.

She rattled off weights and heights and he had been correct that the child was only in about the thirty-seventh percentile compared to other children her age. Her heart and lungs sounded healthy save for a low expiration rate that could indicate a mild case of asthma or simply that she was around something that irritated her lungs recently. The recommendation was to monitor for now as it did not seem to be causing her any distress. A slightly more protein-rich diet was recommended for the short term, as well as a multivitamin. It was difficult to ascertain the true visual acuity of one who could not vocalize the letters or shapes, but all scans indicated her eyes were perfectly fine. As were her tongue, teeth, and throat, and pretty much anything else that they looked at. Vanessa had actually included an immunization record so, assuming that was accurate, everything was good there as well.

“So there appears to be no medical reason for her lack of speech?” he verified.

Brenda looked sympathetic, but nodded. “Correct. Though I will point out that she did make some minor vocalizations during the exam, which furthers the belief that her nerves and ligaments are all in working order without need for more invasive review.”

“Are there any specific concerns?” he asked, trying to stay calm, trying to stay professional. There was something bothering her, too many tells screaming at him that he simply could not ignore.

She took a breath and pressed her lips together and, after the slightest prompting motion from him, blurted, “No child should ever be labeled anyone’s property!”

He held up a hand to stop her before she could get fully started. “I am in complete agreement,” he assured her. He glanced at the arm in question, now decorated with a sticker of its own. “That would be a message from her mother, who appears to be out of the picture for now.”

Brenda nodded again, this time more to herself than anything else. “Good, good,” she mumbled. Louder now, she said, “The sanitizer soap in the dispenser by the sink will get most of it off, but it can be harsh on a child’s skin.”

“Harsh as in allergic reaction, or harsh as in chemical burn?”

“Minor redness, but you would still want to watch for anything else,” she assured him. She already had a cloth readied with the soap and started in as soon as he did not directly object. “We did not do a full allergy panel, are there any concerns from either side of the family that you are aware of?”

His own stomach issues tended to be from his medications and anxiety more than any actual allergies, and he only remembered Vanessa popping an antihistamine against the ragweed. “Possible seasonal allergies, but it’s not the season so…” he shrugged. He remembered a recent study though, and asked, “Isn’t there a way to run the major allergens as a blood test? I’d hate to feed her something that leads her right back here by morning.”

Brenda looked pleased with the reasoning and added it to the panel already being run, no need for an additional draw. “It will be a few days before we have the results, so I suggest avoiding any peanuts or dairy during that time to be on the safe side. The crackers she had with were the same kind I give my own kids and aren’t gluten-free or anything, so hopefully there will be no issues with that,” she advised after she discarded the cloth and dried both her hands and the child’s arm.

She handed him some paperwork to take with him and he bent down with it to be more on Angelica’s eye level. “It’s almost dinnertime, sweetheart, would you like to go get something to eat?”

The smile was back, but that could have been because he let her add a sticker to his lapel. He held out his hand and she took it, shuffling along beside him back out to the waiting room where far too many people turned to greet them both after thanking the nurse. After the day she had just had, he wasn’t surprised to find out it was too much for a toddler all at once. She ducked and stumbled and tried to hide behind him. He shoved the papers at JT and turned to swoop her up into his arms. She furrowed her brow at him for just a moment, back stiff as a board as though ready to fuss. A small finger poked at the sticker though, and she relaxed and curled up into him instead, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

“If there was any doubt as to whose she is,” his mother smiled as she approached. She reached out to pet the curls, but stopped herself when she realized it may not be a welcomed action. “I have seen that precise expression on both of my children far too many times to count. Tired, stubborn, and needing either a nap or ice cream.”

The tiny being had reacted to that last word by tilting her face outward to see just who was offering, but Malcolm shook his head. “We’re staying allergen-free until the test results come back,” he insisted. He was met with a pout for his troubles, technically two when he glanced over to his mother.

Solanger approached, files still in hand. “I am assuming the tests you speak of are DNA as well?” At his confirmation, the man continued, “The documents seem in order. The biological, legal mother of the child is relinquishing her rights and signing them over to you to either accept or to place the child as a ward of the state. There is some hazy phrasing in one section that could be used as a later loophole to attempt to take the child back but, given the condition the child was found in and the language contained in the remaining pages, I believe we could very easily argue for full parental rights even then, if we show she is unfit to care for the child.”

“How will the DNA results alter the plan of attack on this?” his mother asked so that he didn’t have to. He was too busy biting back a retort that the child had a name, and that it would be best for all involved to actually use it.

“The tests come back negative, we argue child abandonment and it is your choice what steps to take next to find her a safe home,” he replied. Then, with a twitch of his lips that made him look almost grandfatherly with his gray hair and copious wrinkles, he added, “If they are positive, our argument will be air tight and I owe you a congratulations and request you update some paperwork of your own, but the final decision will still be yours.”

There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t want this. His own childhood trauma. The fact that his biological father was literally a serial killer. He didn’t sleep and barely ate and chased after thrills that put his life in danger on a regular basis. He knew pretty much nothing about raising a child given that he was practically raised by nannies, and his almost compulsive need for order was not necessarily the best thing to go up against the chaos of a toddler. And that wasn’t even mentioning the weapons collection or deathtrap of a loft because he wasn’t sure how to baby-proof an open staircase.

And yet.

In his arms, he held something he never thought he’d have. A piece of him. A piece to teach and to grow and to love and to hold and to be there in all the ways his own life had someone lacking for far too long. And, while Martin was evil incarnate, Gil was the best role model anyone could hope for and had helped shape his own life away from the ruin it could have been without his guidance. Add Dani and JT and Edrisa and everyone else he had in his admittedly small but incredibly close circle of friends, and he knew he would have a support system to either hold him up or slap him back as needed.

“You’ve got a gooey look in your eyes, Bright,” JT grumbled, but it was clear he was more amused than anything else. Attention back on the present, the detective added, “And you’ve got your arms full of a kid that’s going to have a meltdown if we don’t feed her soon.”

His mother had her phone in hand in the blink of an eye. “I can have Luisa have something ready for us by the time we get home,” she announced. A glance to all those gathered, and she amended that to, “I can have Luisa have something ready for the child by the time we get home, our own meals may take a little longer and, really, will someone tell me her name already?”

“Her name is Angelica Aster Monroe,” he told her, though his eyes never left Angelica, receiving the expected shy smile at the announcement of her name.

“That is such a rich person name,” JT huffed. “Also, seriously, can’t we get the kid a Happy Meal or something? She’s been good enough to earn a reward.”

Said kid’s forehead bounced off of Bright’s chin at those words, entire body lit up in excitement. “I think you found something she understands,” Gil announced drily.

His mother still had her phone out, and he looked to her expectantly. “Oh, dear god, no. You go feed her with that horrible grease. I will go home and make sure that a room is at least partially in order by the time you arrive.”

“Jessica,” Gil wheedled when he saw the way Bright blanched at the declaration. 

She was having none of it. “I still have his old crib and bedding, though I may opt for Ainsley’s as that had flowers versus airplanes and is more fitting to the name Aster. Are you going to stand there and tell me that, miraculously, within the time you found the child and never left her side, that you arranged for a place for her to sleep in that loft of yours?”

“Well, no…” he admitted.

“I can have your room made up for you as well and then, maybe, my possible grandchild and her probable father might manage an hour or two of rest tonight before we face whatever else happens tomorrow,” she declared. She also strode off at that, not giving him time to object.

Her cadre of lawyers left with her, leaving him with his team plus Colette. The woman approached, pink and purple backpack in hand. “I have now met your mother twice, and think I have a far better understanding of you,” she mused.

Malcolm wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, especially since she had accused him of resorting to mommy issues on a profile far too often, so he smiled brightly and offered, “McDonald’s?”

She nodded, lips twitching into a grin. “I could be down for some fries,” she agreed.

He eventually arrived at the Milton household with a child covered in far more ketchup than should have been possible. They had used a dozen or so napkins on her, but her clothing most definitely needed to be washed. He walked through the door with Angelica struggling to keep her eyes open, and was greeted by a very amused Luisa. She took one look at the situation and asked, “Will the young lady be in need of a bath?”

Bright looked down at the droopy child and shook his head. “I don’t think she’ll be awake for one. Alternatively, it might wake her up for the rest of the night.” He took a second glance at himself and admitted, “But I might need one?”

Luisa chuckled quietly and led the way to where she and his mother had set up a space for their visitor for the evening. It was a room nearly directly across from his own, and they had been busy. The crib was scrubbed clean with fresh linens over the thin mattress, and at least a half dozen of Ainsley’s old outfits laid atop a dresser for him to choose from. There were also several stuffed animals that he vaguely recognized, a mobile even though she probably had outgrown such things, and a nightlight.

He was at a loss as to where to start but, thankfully, Luisa was not. Together, they got Angelica changed in both the clothing and the diaper aspects, the little pigtails Dani had tied back brushed out, and the child situated in the crib in record time. It was possible she had pretty much slept through it all, so that most definitely had helped.

He turned to find Luisa carefully removing the stickers from the ketchup-covered cloth, one by one, a quiet smile on her face. “Okay, get it out,” he told her.

She looked up from her task and replied, “You deserve this.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I deserve a ketchup and sticker covered, knotted hair toddler?”

“That too,” she said easily enough. She had known him for a long time, and knew many of the antics he had gotten up to over the years, possibly more so than his actual mother. “But you deserve to be happy, content, and, child, this is the happiest I have seen you in so long.” 

He smiled despite himself. Which is why it was that much harder to admit, “She might not even be mine.”

Luisa looked truly unimpressed by that announcement. “You more than others know that family is made up of more than blood,” she told him, and he had no argument against that particular proclamation.

He didn’t really sleep, but he didn’t really expect to, so there was that. He dozed, and woke at the slightest noise, eyes trained on the door as though he could see through the layers of wood and wallpaper to figure out just what was troubling a child that he just met. A child that was handling things far too well to hint at a reasonable ramp up to the events at hand.

He remembered Vanessa and wondered what led her to her choices. She had been antsy, had trouble sitting still as they scrolled through file after file and watched the same boring apartment building across from the motel where they holed up. She was the one to bring back a bottle of some truly horrible corn whisky and suggest their extra-curricular activities. They took shifts monitoring their equipment and resting, crossing over for several hours at a time each day. It was during those hours that they would recite their findings, or lack thereof, and then turn up the sound and brightness so as to allow it to filter through the haze of their possible distractions.

She had a love/hate relationship with the buckets of flowers that hung along the walkways of the motel. She loved the little bluish-purple flowers, but hated the bugs they attracted, and hated that there was one right at the best vantage point, the maids moving it back no matter how often she tried to destroy it. He wondered if Angelica’s middle name was a callout those flowers, knew she had read up about them for a change of pace if nothing else, mainly because he started reciting mythological tie-ins after handing her a bouquet that just happened to reduce the bulk of the plant blocking her view.

She didn’t seem cut out for fieldwork, but had survived the academy with decent grades and had solid reviews from her few previous supervisors. She was a good shot, a better runner, and had a way of making his toes curl with a flick of her tongue against his. There had been nothing serious between them, they knew that going in. He had hoped she would remain a friend if nothing else, but the reveal of his true lineage had tossed that right out the window. Four days later, their case was wrapped and she never spoke to him again unless you counted halfhearted waves when they passed in the hallways.

He was hurt that she hadn’t told him about Angelica, but knew it was her choice, not his to make. He still questioned why, when things went south with her job and everything else in her life, she did not reach out sooner. She must have truly hated him, hated what he was more than who he was, to refuse the barest chance he might want to be involved in her life all. 

He was drawn out of his musings by the quietest murmurs and an almost click of a noise from across the hallway. He was on his feet instantly, and made the trip in quick strides. He peered in through the doorway to find Angelica thrashing her head this way and that and feared she had picked up his sleeping habits. Or he did until he realized her eyes were open, wide with fear as she took in all the strangeness around her. She pulled a stuffed teddy close, frowned as though it was not right, and then chucked it as far as she could to land with a stuffed puppy who must have received similar treatment, the hard plastic eyes against the bars of the crib explaining the clicking noise he had heard. Oddly though, there was almost no other noise. He could see the tears now, but there was no screaming, no crying out.

When he got closer, he could better see why. The shredded blanket from her backpack was shoved against her lips, into her mouth. She yanked it out to take a deep shuttering breath, and then shoved it right back in. The floor creaked as he took another step, and her eyes darted to his own, one chubby little hand holding the torn fabric that much tighter in place. Her hiccups were muffled but not abated, and he wondered if she had taught herself to stay quiet so as not to upset her mother, or if Vanessa had let her cry it out and ignored it the way she had when he had a second nightmare during their case.

It didn’t matter though because Nessa wasn’t there. He was.

He swooped her up into his arms and gently tugged the fabric free to let her breath a little easier. She raised her hand again, this time with one single finger held to her lips. She hissed out a shushing sound and tried to reach for her blanket again.

He let her hold it, but kept enough of a grip on it to stop her from shoving it back into her mouth again. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he told her. “If you need to make noise, you make noise. I do it all the time.”

She shook her head and shushed him again before she rested her little cheek against his collar bone. He figured it was not a battle he was going to win in one night, and let her be, even if he kept his hold on the blanket as much as she did. There was a rocking chair in the corner of the room, one Ygritte had used with him when he was young, and he settled himself into it and her across his lap. He continued his litany of promises that she was okay, she was safe, her mom might not be there but he was going to make sure nothing happened to her as he gently rocked her back and forth. Eventually, the shushes turned to snuffles turned to little almost-snores, and he called it a win.

Luisa found him in that same position in the morning. He must have dozed again as he blinked his eyes open to find her in the doorway though he swore it was long before anyone else should be up and around the last time he glanced at the clock. “You do know that, once they fall back asleep, you can usually lay them down again, correct?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, voice barely a whisper.

He yawned and stretched as much as he could without disrupting the drooling, overheated mass of child in his lap. “I didn’t want to take the chance she’d wake up again with no one here,” he admitted just as quietly.

“They do make baby monitors for this sort of thing. Allows the parent to rest some time before the child reaches school age,” she smiled. She must have suspected his next protest as she raised a finger and cut him off with, “You would have done the same whether she was yours or not. At least let us make it easier until the determination is made?”

“The determination as you call it should be made in a day or two, if that,” he told her as he blinked away the last of his tiredness. He had managed two to three hours, uninterrupted and nightmare-free, of light sleep, so he was ready to go for the day. If he could figure out how to free himself and make sure Angelica still got the rest she needed as well.

As if on cue, the tousled head rubbed back and forth as she began to stir. She blinked open her pale eyes and pulled her drool-encrusted cheek away from his shoulder as if to see who the unknown lump was that she was cuddled up to. When she saw it was him, she blinked in confusion and he feared a meltdown, only for her to smile widely and rest her forehead against him again.

“Why don’t I take the little one to wash up and you begin your morning routine?” Luisa asked as she reached to do just that. She had been with the Whitly household for long enough to know every member had a preferred morning schedule, and any alteration usually left one or more of them grouchy to say the least.

Angelica must have understood the words as she tried to snuggle back in that much deeper. “It’s okay, I’m still right here,” he promised. He had a thought, likely a bad one, but he ran with it. “I was going to do something called yoga. Did you want to try too?” Yoga and meditation helped right his mind, mostly, so maybe it would help her as well. Or, possibly, just being near the person she decided she needed at the moment would do so.

He received an enthusiastic nod for his troubles and a patient sigh from Luisa as well. “Compromise: I will change your diaper while Papa there goes to change into his workout clothes. If all involved are well, I can see if we have the makings for pancakes for breakfast,” she offered.

It wasn’t technically an offer as she easily extracted the child the moment she looked up at the word “pancakes” and was already headed for the bag of diapers and wipes Gil had obtained the night before. Malcolm did not want to admit the little leap his heart did at the word “Papa” but knew she had probably figured it out on her own. He took the opportunity to use the bathroom and splash some water on his face himself as well as down his meds. He technically did not need to change from his pajama pants and t-shirt for yoga, but found some workout pants in one of the drawers of his room and did so anyway. 

By the time he had finished, Luisa had Angelica in shorts and a t-shirt of her own, hair brushed but still down as she rushed over to him. “A bath can wait until after the syrup,” Luisa declared, and then left the two of them to get on with their morning. 

He did some simple stretches on the yoga mat that had been tucked in the closet of his room. He didn’t quite manage to quiet his mind as he kept an eye on the little thing next to him that watched him for about a minute or two and then decided to try to replicate his poses on a blanket she yanked from the foot of the bed where he hadn’t slept the night before. His tree was upgraded to a teetering pirouette for her, and his plank was her flopping on her belly and waving her arms and legs like a beached seal. All in all, he did feel much lighter by the end of his routine, and he did not question that it had to do with more than just yoga.

Of course, some of that was dashed when he ventured to the table for breakfast. Aside from the noted absence of his sister, whose presence was still iffy on the best of days after everything that had happened, his mother wore a heavy frown. She immediately tried to disguise it when Malcolm and Angelica wandered in, but he knew her tells. Also, the fact that there was a file folder that she immediately snapped shut was a little obvious.

“Good morning, mother, interesting reading?” he greeted her. He kissed her cheek as Katia picked up the toddler and wrangled her into a highchair she had found. Luisa must have been in the kitchen, her daughter managing the table instead. Malcolm made a mental note to ask how her studies were going knowing the young woman was going for a degree in social work that was mostly funded by the Whitly’s and scholarships she had earned on her own, but concentrated instead on what his mother had to say at the moment.

As expected, she gestured towards the file. “Just making my way through the documents that wretched, I mean that lovely ex of yours left for us,” she replied, stopping herself with a pointed look at Angelica. While it was likely she had no idea what the adults were talking about, she would pick up on attitude and expressions and let them guide her own moods. At least that’s what the child development refresher articles he read last night said.

“Not ex, more like week-long fling that was apparently highly regrettable as far as the other party was concerned,” he corrected. He reached for the French press and sniffed it to verify his mother had not augmented it before he poured himself a cup. She usually preferred mimosas with breakfast if she was aiming for something alcoholic, but didn’t want to put it past her to choose otherwise.

“Well, she certainly made that clear,” his mother huffed. “Your father may have been a monster, but anyone who spends five minutes with you can see you are nothing like him.”

That was debatable as far as he was concerned but, then again, his mother did not know half of the things he had gotten up to recently, let alone in his college years or his time with the FBI. They paused while breakfast was served: French toast made from brioche for them and tiny finger-sized pancakes for Angelica. There were sides of fruit and fresh juices for all as well as a plate of sausages. His mother savagely sliced into the bread and dipped it in the ramakin of syrup next to her plate, never liking to pour the sweetness directly onto her plate.

The act of chewing calmed her enough to continue her much more sedate diatribe. “She said it was your sister that showed her the truth,” she said quietly. He was confused as the interview with their father aired months before, but his mind made the connection even as his mother continued, “She said it was the knowledge that one so young when it all occurred could be moved to such disregard for human life as she shows in her enthusiastic reporting of serial killers was proof that the family as a whole was damaged beyond repair. She made some extremely unflattering comparisons between Ainsley, yourself, and even her own daughter.”

He lowered his fork with a bit more force than originally intended. None of that was in the letter Colette showed him, which could only mean one thing. “She sent you a letter as well?”

She nodded and took a sip of her coffee, making a face at its lack of accoutrements, but leaving it for now. “One arrived this morning,” she confirmed. “Gil is checking your mail to see if she left you anything. Well, anything other than a defenseless child abandoned in the middle of New York with a dirty diaper and a note in a backpack saying she’s yours. She could have wandered off anywhere! She could have been hurt! Whitly or no, that is unacceptable!” she fumed.

“Well, not wandered as she was handcuffed to the banister, but the door was unlocked so…” he started before he could stop himself.

He did stop at the clatter of the coffee cup smacking against the saucer. “Handcuffed?” his mother nearly shouted in concern, eyes wide in disbelief. It was then he remembered they might have left that part out the night before. “Child endangerment if nothing else. Please say those friends of yours have drawn up at least those charges? I don’t care if this sweet thing is biologically yours or not, she is not going back to that horrible… I can’t even say mother as she clearly is not one of those. We’ll find a family, someone kind and caring and… She’s not going back, Malcolm, I won’t have it!”

“We should have the results back tomorrow, they put a rush on it,” he assured her. “And Solanger assured us both that we have a solid case either way. If she is mine, it’s just that much more concrete and we will be the ones to decide what happens, not Vanessa, not the state, us.”

She nodded, slightly appeased, then paused. “Decide? Surely you aren’t thinking of giving her away if she is your own? I am far too young to be a grandmother but, let’s be real, this may be the only chance I get with either of you the way things are going.”

He shook his head and put down his fork again, appetite completely gone. “You know as well as I do that I am not dad material. Aside from all of my health issues and behavioral issues and sleeping issues and food issues, there’s the fact that my job consumes my life and, well, it’s better that it does as it doesn’t leave me alone with my thoughts.” It was true and he needed to admit it, to her and to himself. He was irresponsible on a good day and he didn’t have a lot of those. To add a child to the mix? It would be unfair to the child, and likely to society once that child grew up with all of his thoughtful teachings.

He expected the scoff from his mother, but not the vehemence with which she made it. “You are better father material than I was mother material and we both know it. I loved you both, but had no idea what to do with you. I relied on a support system, which you have in spades. Well, that, and the tried and true methods of the rich and a lot of well-paid nannies. I learned a lot from them.”

“Mother…” he sighed. He had the passing thought of going the nanny route the night before while Angelica was cuddled and drooling in his arms. He knew many people of all walks of life relied on babysitters and care centers and, yes, even nannies to allow them to both continue with their careers and make certain the child would have what they needed. But his life would require more. He would need a day nanny and a night one as crimes did not happen during standard working hours and both would need to be prepared to deal with a child that likely had special needs. The day one would be easy enough, but a night one? With his sleep issues and night terrors? The nondisclosure agreement alone would both keep the family attorneys busy and any potential hires at bay.

“Just think about it, please? And not for me, but for her, and for you,” his mother requested.

He made no promises and knew she noticed the fact. She did not, however, notice the toddler had just enough reach to nearly have her sticky little fingers on a certain ramakin of syrup. “Angelica, no!” he chided. “You have syrup on yours already and that is hers.”

He received a pout for his troubles, one that was soon duplicated by the grown woman seated beside him. He half expected her to give in but, instead, his mother commented, “I know exactly how much of a mess can be made with this much syrup. You were neat and hated getting your fingers dirty. Ainsley on the other hand is the reason even I know how to get so many things out of hair.”

They continued on with their meal and kept the discussions far lighter, though he noticed the way they kept veering towards child rearing or experiences with children of various ages pulling all sorts of stunts and the parental figure surviving it all. It was as subtle as his mother ever was and to call her on it would do precisely nothing. He had managed three-fourths of his French toast and some fruit when he called it, and not just because he truly did not think he could eat any more without feeling ill. The deciding factor was when one of the tiny pancakes went sailing past his mother and would have landed in or at least near his refilled cup of coffee had he not managed to catch it mid-air.

“I believe the young Miss Monroe has completed her mealtime,” he said with a grin.

His mother surprised him and stood as though she was going to pick up Angelica herself. Luisa stopped her though with a raised hand and reasonable, “I can get a child clean far easier than that blouse, Mrs. Whitly.”

He helped bus the dishes back to the kitchen because he didn’t feel it was fair to make Luisa do both, even if she mildly threatened him to please not attempt to put the china in the dishwasher again. His mother stood beside him while he washed and dried the dishes by hand, sipping her coffee and musing on life in general. It was a side of her few saw, but he knew well. If he hadn’t been there, and it had been Luisa washing the dishes, she would have done the same, Adolpho chiming in with a comment randomly to continue the conversation while he finished up his own meal.

Katia came back from wherever she had run off to and peeked in, uniform exchanged for street clothes as she apparently had classes. She saw Malcolm doing the dishes and chided, “Mr. Bright! You know we would have done those!” 

She even reached for them, but he stopped her. “I’m almost finished and you need to get going if you’re going to make your lecture,” he replied. He made a shooing motion, several little bubbles floating in the air towards her as he added, “Go on, get your fancy degree so we can work together some day.”

She grinned and blushed and hung her head a little before she darted out the door. When he turned to put the last plate down, he saw the contemplative look on his mother’s face. “You know,” she said, not even trying to hide her scheming. “Katia has another three years at least left before she graduates and most of those classes will be during the day. She already knows the family history, has seen your sleep issues up close, and would be ready to look for a job around the time Angelica was ready for school of her own.”

“Mother…” he warned.

“She wants to work with children, specifically children in need,” Adolpho commented slyly, clearly in agreement with the potential plan.

“You with your history and now a potential third generation at play would be a fantastic, if legally redacted case study for her thesis,” his mother mused. “And her entire family has been so loyal, especially after the horribleness that was your father…”

Now it was Malcolm’s turn to hang his head. He took a fortifying breath before he raised it again to vaguely meet his mother’s eyes. “You will not plan out three separate people’s lives before we even know the truth of the matter at hand,” he declared. “If Angelica is not mine, there is no need to subject her to the horrifying scrutiny this family receives. She has the right to have a normal, non-media-frenzied life.”

“She should have that right regardless,” Jessica muttered into the last of her coffee. She swallowed and smiled and asked with forced cheeriness, “And if she is yours?”

He put down the towel he held and was thankful that he was not holding something far more fragile. “Well, after my panic attack, then and only then do we look at all options and possibilities, and I do mean all. Is that clear?”

“As crystal,” his mother assured him. He swore he even heard Adolpho promise the same. Of course she ruined it with, “But do let me know if you have any preferences for schools? We need to get her on the waiting lists as soon as possible.”

“She’s not even three!” he protested.

“Which means we are two years behind,” his mother said as if that was the point he had been trying to make.

He hung his head, again, and muttered, “I am not having this conversation,” before he left to put truth to his words.

He bathed and got dressed and found it incredibly suspicious Angelica had not been returned to him yet. It was less of a sense of foul play and more that his mother and her ideas were attempting to override his own. With that in mind, he headed back to the main living area to find the parties in question sitting side by side on the sofa, outfits perfectly coordinated to complement each other and his possible offspring’s hair braided neatly on either side of her face. He did not want to know what feat of witchcraft managed that, but thanked a beaming Luisa as he entered the room.

His mother had a laptop of all things in front of her. He knew she knew how to use one, but she rarely ever let anyone see her with one all the same. Beside her, Angelica played with a stuffed kitty that fit neatly into her lap, though she seemed more interested in the world around her than the toy. “We’re trying that one out to see if she’ll like it,” his mother said absently as she scrolled. “If you’re up for a shopping trip, we can let her choose her own and take out all of the guesswork.”

He was never up to a shopping trip, at least not to one of his mother’s standards. He liked nice things, this was true. He liked to personally choose said nice things, this was also true. The fact that his definitions and those of Jessica Whitly so rarely aligned was yet another fact not to be ignored. As much as he wanted to give the child in front of him anything and everything she might need, whether she was his or not, he wasn’t sure he could willingly subject them to a day like what was possibly already brewing.

“We fill only two standard-sized shopping bags: one with clothing and one with stuffed animals and personal items,” he bargained. When his mother raised her head to protest, he took the opportunity to see what she had pulled up and resisted the urge to bang his head. “Didn’t we have the discussion about schools this morning?” he sighed.

“No, we had a discussion about how you did not want to have a discussion about schools this morning,” came the correction. She pressed on, as he knew she would, to say, “I’ve narrowed it down to a handful of options that we can pend on, for a short period of time only. All have phenomenal programs and three have the option of day school versus boarding as I know you well enough to know your reverse elitism.”

He narrowed his eyes at the options on the screen and gave in to the urge to ask, “Are you choosing by how well she would look in their uniform?”

The laptop snapped shut, which he took as confirmation as much as anything else, even when she said, “Thankfully, her coloring goes with nearly any palette so that is not a major concern.”

“You do know that most parents don’t coordinate their children to color schemes, right?” he sighed.

He half-expected her standard reply that most children were not Miltons but, instead, she stood and offered a hand to help Angelica down and off of the sofa. Hand in tiny hand, she looked over to him and asked, “Shall we? Burberry has a new collection that she would look darling in.”

Three hours later, he regretted his life choices. More than two bags were purchased but, to be fair, the car seat and stroller were definite necessities, even if one of those had been purchased sometime between his mother finding out about the child and him waking in the morning. The other seat was still in Gil’s car as he hadn’t expected to need to go anywhere that wasn’t the station or his loft and knew Gil would be there for him and Angelica if required. 

The stroller was required as one did not simply take a two-and-a-half-year-old on a three-hour trip and expect them to walk nor want to be carried the entire time. 

In his negotiating, he had forgotten one very important thing: toddler clothes were small and a lot of them could fit in a single bag. A lot. Especially when the purchaser possibly paid off the sales associate to fold them as tiny as can be to fit even more in there. He had talked his way out of some of the more unnecessarily expensive items by pointing out that the child was still growing and, well, a child, with all the messes that came with being one. His mother had argued that was all the more reason to simply buy more to make up for the destroyed ones, but he set his foot down on the basis that, should Angelica not be his, it was not fair to panic the adoptive family into thinking the child was used to such standards. He had the feeling there would be an arrangement, bloodline or no, to supply the items, but he really could not think about that at the moment.

They picked up a variety of shirts and skirts and tiny little legging-like pants as well as socks and a spare pair of shoes. His mother’s eyes lit up when she saw Angelica run towards the fantastical fairy princess items. They did not dim when the child pushed the pink aside and grasped at the shirts that had a little knight emblazoned on them instead. Tiny fingers pointed as though they were something important. A quick search on his phone, that may have possibly involved texting Tally a picture, and he discovered that the favorite figure in question was from a currently popular cartoon show that he was probably going to learn a lot about in the coming days.

It was when they reached the toy part of the day’s adventures that he thought Angelica would go all out. Instead, she shoved the blanket JT had gifted her with in her mouth and simply stared with wide, pale eyes at all of the options. 

“Too many choices?” he guessed. Angelica started to reach for something, but then tucked her hand back again in response as though afraid to make the request. He made a mental note to make sure that one ended up making a trip to a certain crib on the off chance his mother hadn’t already, but also had what he hoped was not a horrible idea.

They had passed a store along their long journey that he thought might fit the bill. He backtracked to that one and knew from the bright smile he received that he had made the right choice. By chance, the Build-a-Bear store had an option for one that was pretty much the precise shade of pink of the little backpack he had found her with. She passed over that one though, and opted for a bear of the softest, lightest blue, the color of the aster flowers that were her namesake. She watched, intrigued, as they filled the form with fluff, but was thoroughly confused when they handed her a tiny little heart and told her to make a wish and to fill it with magic. 

She turned to where he was crouched down beside her and he explained, “Some people believe that magic is made up of all the hopes and dreams for something to come true. Some people also believe that magic is all the love of all the people who care about you. If you put some of that into something, it will protect you even more than a sword or shield of shining armor.” He remembered Jackie having said something similar to a terrified kid at one point, and hoped it worked a second time.

She took one of the little hearts that was offered and stared at it for a moment. He thought maybe she was putting some of her “magic” into it, but she handed it to him instead. She then took a second one and handed it to his astonished mother. The sales associate giggled, and handed her a third one for herself.

He recovered enough to cup the little bit of fabric between his hands and pretend to think really hard about it. When he handed it back to the waiting associate, he said, “I put as much protective magic as I could into it.”

He was surprised when his mother played along and said, “And I put my hopes that you grow up to be a happy, safe, loved young woman into mine.” 

Angelica nodded and clutched the final heart in her tiny fingers. She screwed her face up into a look of utter concentration, a little pink tongue darting between her lips. Finally, she handed it back over and watched as all three were sewn into her new companion. A companion that she gripped onto with all of her life even after she passed out in the stroller, the helmet of its little knight costume tucked in with her own clothing, the soft armor it wore crinkling in her death grip.


	2. Chapter 2

Gil texted around the time he was attempting to wheedle his mother into taking a lunch break, preferably one at home, away from people and closer to where a crib waited for naptime. He texted back to send help, then realized that was possibly not the best thing to send to an over-protective father figure. He clarified that his mother was gearing up for a full shopping rampage and that they were nearing hour four of the ordeal. There was no way that his two bag limit was going to survive the afternoon if she kept going.

Gil, as always, was his own knight in shining armor. He agreed to meet them back at the house with his findings so far. He knew Jessica Whitly’s curiosity as well as Malcolm himself did, and it did the trick to have her relent and have Luisa prepare a light meal as she was nothing if not an apt hostess.

Over plates of sandwiches and sides, Arroyo didn’t even try to hide his mirth at the day’s adventures. He kept trying to engage Angelica, who was falling asleep into her apple sauce. Malcolm feared a similar fate would have awaited her knighted teddy, but Luisa was smart enough to put the bear at a seat of its own safely out of harm’s way. Instead, as the curly dark head started to droop further and further, he prompted, “What did you find?”

Gil paused and wiped his mouth with his napkin and then took a sip of water and generally stalled until Malcolm raised his eyebrows to remind him who he was dealing with. Eventually, he relented and said, “Enough that we’re trying to dig deeper. Even Swanson is suspicious at this point, which should tell you something.”

That answered the question as to whether Colette was still about, not that he had expected her to leave quite so soon. She was emotionally invested in the matter, at least to a certain level, plus was actually not that bad of an agent and had a decent sense of humanity in general. She cared about what happened to a child. She also cared about reneging on her promise to hash it out with Bright regarding a certain ex.

“Even I can tell you’re hiding something,” his mother chided with a toss of her hair.

Gil took what appeared to be a fortifying breath and said, “There was another envelope, this one addressed specifically to Bright. I was tempted to open it as part of the ongoing investigation as it matches the others, but you have the final say. If you want it, it’s yours to have a first read through. Though, no matter what, there’s a good chance it’s going to become part of the investigation.”

“And?” Malcolm prodded. He respected the issue with the letter, but there was clearly something more at hand.

“Something doesn’t sit right. There’s something we’re missing about this whole thing, I can feel it in my gut,” Gil sighed. “Swanson went through the apartment once, but Dani wants a look for herself. JT thinks she’s running from something, and that something is more than her issues with your family though the whole Whitly aspect probably isn’t helping matters. We don’t have access to any medical records yet to see if she was on any medications or had a break of some sort, and probably won’t unless there’s a violent crime committed, but something is off here.”

“Medications do not always lead to psychotic breaks,” he said solely because he could. Gil huffed in agreement, so he continued, “I’ll take the letter, but you can read over my shoulder if you want?”

Gil dug an envelope out of his pocket that looked similar to the ones they had seen so far, but waited until Luisa pointedly removed the slightly snoring and definitely drooling child before he handed it over. 

It was a lot of more of the same, really. But, trusting Gil’s instincts as well as his own, he tried to read deeper into the few words that were on the page. She mentioned his family issues but it seemed more like comparative phrasing than a continuation when the next bit mentioned some issues could not be resolved without bringing harm to others, no matter how hard the person tried. She wrapped it up with mentioning that it was time to start over, go back to the beginning, and that it would be safest for all involved to do so.

He had an idea. It might be a bad one, but it might actually help resolve something so he figured it was worth trying. “I need a list of motels. Not sure of the radius, maybe keep it twenty or twenty-five miles from my place? Boring, bland, business-oriented more than family. Maybe a Travelodge? I think that’s what we stayed in then…”

“Kid, you going to share your thoughts with the rest of the class?” Gil prompted.

He stood and started to pace as he pieced his suspicions together. “We know Vanessa was here, and recently, based on Angelica being dropped off literally yesterday. I agree with JT that she’s running from something, and not just familial ties. It would explain, well, not everything, but some of the urgency of the letters. She wanted Angelica to be found. She sent them to anyone who might help with that but used phrasing to indicate that it was it was too much. Too much for Vanessa to raise the child, or too much for Angelica to be with her with whatever else is going on?”

“And you think there might be evidence to clarify what she might mean at a random motel that you’re guessing at the name?” Gil asked doubtingly.

Malcolm threw his hands up in the air. “It’s either that, or I go to Wichita, and I doubt she wanted me to go on a road trip with a toddler.”

It was not Gil but his mother who spoke next, reminding them both that she was there and that he got his intelligence from both sides of the family. “Were there any other details about this motel? A placement she would try to replicate?” she asked. “If the letters are to guide you on some fool-hearted mission, she would have tied it to something you would know and others who might come across them would not.”

Malcolm tried to think, but it was hard. Their rooms had been on the West side, an otherwise stunning sunset blocked by the ugly apartment complex across the way. There had been a courtyard-type area with a garden and a fountain that gurgled and sputtered more than actually worked, a green brackish buildup around its edges. Baskets of flowers hung in front of every main window from a white painted façade atop a matching rickety waist-high fence. The other side of the building shared a parking lot with a Denny’s that sort of bled into a gas station, the sounds of the eighteen wheelers providing a hum of background noise at night.

He added those details to the search criteria and it still narrowed it down to far too many. He remembered his room number and hers, but didn’t know if the numbering convention would translate thousands of miles, nor if she would opt for a room of the same number or a room of a similar view. Gil sent out the info to Dani and JT anyway. A list was divided between them and Colette, with Gil and Malcolm taking a portion for themselves. It was a longshot, and he didn’t actually know what he expected to find, but there was the tiniest chance of an explanation, of more data, of a reason, and he needed to take it.

They were on motel number five themselves when he got a text from Dani. It was an address and a picture. He questioned the latter but understood the moment he enlarged it on his tiny screen. It was a hanging basket of flowers, mostly petunias, with a handful of light blue aster blossoms tucked in amongst the blooms. The baskets next to it were petunia-only.

By the time they got there, Dani had already talked to the manager on duty. He confirmed that a dark-haired woman rented the room with an obviously fake ID but he let her get away with it because she looked exhausted and paid in cash. She paid for three nights, which meant her checkout would have been earlier that day, but he hadn’t actually heard or seen anything regarding her the night before. When he mentioned hoping she and “that kid of hers” had found someplace safe away from what he assumed was an abusive partner, Dani got permission to check out the room for herself.

“There’s not much here,” she warned as he walked up to meet her. She gestured for him to take a look for himself as if to prove her point, but he caught the way her eyes damn near pleaded for him to find something. If Vanessa looked like a woman on the run to the manager, the chance there was more at play just skyrocketed. 

He stepped in to find the standard boring motel room. Beige walls with generic pictures and a carpet worn thin from use. The maid had already been through, which severely limited any remaining evidence, if there ever had been any in the first place. 

He checked under the beds, focusing his attention on the one furthest from the window as that was the one she had chosen three years ago, having used the other to lay out equipment as needed. Most of their gear had been portable, or easily hidden in suitcases when their own cleaning staff had stopped by, but there had been a few things that she had tucked in the oddest places, claiming it was for safety reasons. His eyes went to the vents in the wall, one high and one that was pretty much the entire dual AC/heating system. Neither looked tampered with, but that didn’t mean anything.

JT followed his gaze and pulled out his ever-present multi-tool to start in on the screws that held the vent cover in place. Dani popped the top off of the AC unit and shone her flashlight into its depths to see if anything had been dropped there. Colette loosened the bolts on the headboards and looked there for the same, but Malcolm himself started prying the pictures off the wall to check behind them. They found no hidden files, no secreted equipment, nothing aside from some scraps of paper that could have been remnants from old magazines or even takeout coupons for the Denny’s one block over.

Colette started to crumple them up in frustration, but he stopped her. They were too new. The supposedly random tears happened to form complete words, never anything cut off. He laid them out on the bed closest to the door and left them there for the others to read: Sorry you missed us. There’s no place like home. Safety is our number one concern. Hardwood flooring. Climb. Three.

“They’re nonsense,” Colette sighed. She brushed a perfect wave away from her face with the back of her hand and looked around the room again. “I know you want them to be important, but I think they’re just trash. A place like this? Whatever Nessa might have behind is long gone, Bright.”

He nodded and made all the right noises and let JT and Dani piece the place back together again. A pointed look and they made sure to loop Swanson into their work while Gil led him back to the car. Once safely inside, windows up and away from prying eyes, Arroyo asked, “What did you find?”

“Suspicion, no hard conclusions,” he corrected. 

“Kid, your suspicions have been more accurate than flashing neon lights in the past,” Gil snorted. He shook his head and requested, “Just tell me where you need me to take you, we can fill Dani and JT in later.”

Malcolm surprised him by having him drive back to the loft. Gil started to climb the flight of steps that led to his door, but turned around when he realized that, not only was Bright not following him, he had a flashlight out and was crouched over the wooden slats that made up the staircase. He darted the light between the third and fourth steps, then down again to the first and second to confirm he wasn’t seeing things. He then did the same with the top three near the door. Satisfied, he went back down again to three up from the bottom.

The screws of the third step had been recently adjusted, the metal held fresh scrapes and three of the four were raised slightly more than the others around them. Also, it had been the third step where they had found Angelica seated. He did not believe in coincidences. Not to this level.

He didn’t have a multi-tool on him, and either did Gil. He did have a tool box in his loft for simple repairs that he usually contracted out anyway. Gil returned with a screwdriver, and then held the light while Bright carefully removed the slat of the step.

There, between the boards, barely visible, was a small black velvet bag. 

Inside was a USB drive and a single petal of a blue flower.

He started to head back up to the loft proper, only to hear Gil sigh dramatically and reach down to fix the step in question, likely so that they did not hurt themselves on the way back down later. He also heard Gil’s offer of, “There are computers at the precinct purposely off the grid and set up for things like this. No need to risk unleashing a virus on your own drives.”

It took him a moment to realize that he was serious, that he honestly did not think that Malcolm had the same. He poked and dug into far too much randomness, plus had been in the actual FBI doing the same for far too long, not to have at least a single scrubbed clean unit for this purpose. It wasn’t like he was an expert at cybercrimes or anything like that, far from it, but he had used informants in this way in the past and knew enough not to risk anything important while still getting his hands on the information he needed. He managed to keep it to a, “I’m good,” and continued on his way.

He pulled out the admittedly low-end laptop from its drawer in his office and plugged it in to a power source only, knowing enough not to make a network connection and having disabled the automatic link previously. He waited while the system crawled along to load the basics, and then plugged in the drive just as Arroyo finally sat down across from him. “I checked the third from the top just to be sure. The only thing I found was what looks to be one of Jessica’s earrings,” Gil said as he offered out the golden hoop.

Malcolm glanced at it just to make sure it wasn’t anything more than it seemed, but shrugged it off with, “It’s Ainsley’s. She lost that one a few months back and already has a new pair. I doubt she even remembers its missing.”

He turned his attention back to the computer that was finally done processing the data enough to request a password. He tried the obvious first with Vanessa’s name, and then Angelica’s, but worried he was about to max out the attempts. Finally, he questioned if the petal was a clue more than an accident and tried “Aster” instead.

The screen came to life with several document files and a single video. The documents were mostly named to hint at copies of what was manually sent previously, so he clicked on the video first. Vanessa filled his view now, visibly older than the last time he had seen her even though it had only been a few years prior. She was far less put together than she had been then, curls barely tucked back into an unruly mess behind her ears and dark smudges under her eyes instead of her usual precise makeup. Behind her were beige walls, but it was hard to tell if they were the same as the ones they had so recently left, or belonged to another cheap motel.

“I’m hoping it’s Malcolm that found this versus anyone else,” she started without preamble, voice barely above a whisper. He turned up the volume to better hear what she had to say. “If this is being viewed elsewhere, please note that if you are not the desired recipient, you can go straight to hell.”

“Lovely lady,” Gil muttered, only partially under his breath.

Bright ignored him and focused on the message instead with the knowledge that what was unsaid might be at least as important as what was said. Also with the knowledge that she might have set something up to delete the file once viewed. He would have.

“Bright, I know you have issues. I mean, hello screaming nightmares and all that. I also know that you have a good heart and wouldn’t turn away someone in need. Especially someone like Angelica. She is yours. You might doubt it, I get that, but you are the only man I slept with during the time she would have been created and, seriously, look at her eyes. She is so smart and so sweet. She’s my Angel. She is the best thing that ever happened in my life, which is why I have to give her away.”

Vanessa paused and bit her lip, eyes glancing everywhere but the camera for a moment. “She’s scared,” Bright realized. “She’s terrified of something.” The tells were screaming at him. Yes, she had been a trained agent, but she was never a profiler. There were things she could fake, maybe, but there were simply too many micro-expressions to ignore.

“I got in over my head,” Vanessa continued now, gaze focused just off-center. “I saw something I shouldn’t have and then I dug into it even more because I’m curious and stupid. I don’t know who to trust, so I built this smokescreen and… I care for you. You gave me Angelica, and that alone is reason to do it. I know I didn’t show it. Not before and not… I didn’t know how to react to your nightmares and sure as hell didn’t know how to react when you told me who your father was. I didn’t hold it against you though, you have to believe that. I just… I didn’t want to burden you. I wanted you to take care of yourself because fuck knows you need it.”

“Didn’t Colette say Monroe spoke poorly of your family though?” Gil questioned. “Which one is the lie?”

Malcolm held up a finger to stall him on that thought while he watched the rest. “I told people that you were fucked up and that I didn’t want to deal with you, at least the few people who might have figured out your ties to Angie and the few people who thought you were weird to start with. It helped create a layer of distance, or at least I hoped so. I stayed quiet for a while, but I knew some people were suspicious. Hell, Collie probably figured it out right away. Anyway, I figured pretending that I had decided that your damage was too much, that it infected Angie, means that fewer people will… I just… They can’t use her to get to me if she has your family’s protection. I’m not talking serial killer Whitly protection, I’m talking Bright protection and Milton protection. You are filthy rich and know how to use it in a good way, I’ve seen the charities your mom supports. Use it now? Keep her safe? Give her the things I can’t?”

“I’m not sure this helps or hurts the case that Angelica is yours,” Gil commented at the next pause. He was proud of him for not poking at the nickname for Colette. He wasn’t wrong. Even if the child was not his, he would feel obligated to provide for her in some manner for the rest of her life simply on the basis that Vanessa asked and, well, that it was a child in need. Nessa could so easily abuse that.

“Anyway, you need to know I won’t come back for her. I… don’t think I can. As much as I want to, I honestly don’t. If they get me, they get me and only me. If they were to even breathe in her direction… Screw it. Yeah, I hope someone in your family, your apparently seriously warped sister or some illegitimate somewhere that you’ve kept secret because it sure as hell isn’t you, actually got the murder gene and takes the assholes down. Okay, I’ve got to wrap this up before I lose my nerve. I’m attaching the medical records for Angelica Aster Monroe. I’m also attaching my own in case anything else comes up down the line. I’ll toss in some pictures too. You deserve that. She deserves that. She shouldn’t have her first few years erased because her mom screwed up. I’ve shown her yours enough that she should recognize you, or at least recognize you don’t suck. Tell her I love her? Tell her I’m sorry? Just… hold her for me? Even if you end up sending her to another family. Hold her at least once so she knows… Okay, no, I’m done. This will have to be good enough.”

The video cut off with her swiping angrily at her the tears in her eyes, or so he thought. The image portion did, but it showed another twenty-six seconds left, and so he let it run, screen black but sound on. There, in the background, he heard it: “Mommy cry?”

Gil froze and so did he.

“Yeah, baby girl, mommy cry. But what do we have to remember?” Vanessa whispered. There was a rustling, a squeak of a chair.

“Shh,” the tiny little voice said. Just like it had the night before. “Shh. Shh!”

“That’s right. You’re such a good girl. Mommy’s little Angel. Too good for a mommy like me. Sh-, er, crap!” and then the video ended for real.

He waited in fear that the file would delete itself, but breathed out in relief when it didn’t after a minute or so. Gil had waited for him patiently, probably figuring out precisely what he was doing. When he looked up, he saw dark eyes lined with worry, and sadness. “Kid, she could be…”

“She could be playing me, yes,” he agreed readily enough. She had said the right things, hinted at just enough to keep him curious, keep him involved, keep him convinced it was real. She had been horrible at keeping her cover on the mission, nearly costing them twice if it hadn’t been for his own quick thinking, but it was possible that she had picked up some tricks along the way. His hand shook and he carefully tucked it away from the keyboard, not wanting to risk an accidental corruption of any files. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in, and he blurted, “Gil, she talked!”

“Kid…”

He shook his head to cut him off. “Last night, Angelica woke up, terrified to be in a new place all alone. She kept repeating ‘shh’ again and again and tried to quiet herself. What if this isn’t any sort of developmental issue, but a learned response? What if, after a life of being on the run and hiding, she learned you had to stay quiet to stay safe?”

Gil ran a hand over his beard and sighed. “That’s a lot of what-ifs, City Boy. Here’s another: what if it’s all a scam?”

He sat back in his chair, hands still held together even though it barely hid the obvious. “Well, we find out tomorrow about any genetic tie and for anything else? We have an army of Jessica Whitly-approved lawyers to sort it out.”

Oddly, that comforted Gil more than anything else. 

They headed back over to his mother’s after he made a copy of the drive while arguing details that may or may not have been real and pretending to scroll through the pictures and documents on it. He handed Gil the original to avoid an actual fight despite the fact that he would have needed a warrant otherwise and the reasoning for one would have been flimsy at best. It was sans one folder that he deleted on purpose after copying it. The name “Resignation to Director Thomas” would seem innocuous enough if caught in passing, maybe a little strange to include to him unless it included the pregnancy and such, but given that Director Thomas had retired six years prior and the child in question was two and a half, he figured there was more going on than first perceived. He just hoped Gil hadn’t counted the number of files, or memorized their names when he tried to look over his shoulder while he completed the duplication of data.

His mother chided him pretty much the moment they arrived. A little girl left abandoned and then abandoned again? Not a great first impression. Then again, the moment she saw him, Angelica toddled over to him and lifted her arms up to be held. If nothing else, there was a decent case Nessa had been truthful about showing enough pictures to Angelica for her to know he was to be a trusted entity. He highly doubted one night of holding her in his arms did the trick. Given the shushing behavior would be a learned and not innate thing, he promised to keep his eyes out for others, and hopefully figure out a way to break them if they proved detrimental to the normal development of a toddler.

“Did you at least learn anything important?” his mother asked. Satisfied that she was not currently responsible for the child any longer, she moved to pour herself something at the drinks cart, holding up the bottle to offer one to Gil as well.

He declined but replied with, “We found hints, but nothing substantial at the site. As of right now, I don’t know if NYPD or even the FBI has enough of a case to investigate anything. We could argue child endangerment, but that’s about it.”

“There was a drive,” Malcolm admitted even though he knew Gil would have preferred he had not. It was left for him and was his property, so it was his right to discuss the matter with family. With no formal charges or case, really, there was no non-disclosure issues at play. “I gave it to Gil but am going to ask he holds it for at least a day before turning it over.”

Arroyo’s head popped up at that. “Why?” he asked. He’d likely comply out of friendship alone, but he’d feel more comfortable with an actual reason and Malcolm understood that.

“I want the DNA results back first,” he said easily enough. He swayed back and forth with his probable daughter, his jaw hit time and time again with the stuffed bear she apparently did not want to let go of. “If Colette finds out about the drive before those are back, she’ll take the drive and try to block the results claiming it’s part of an open case even though, as you said, there’s not much of a case at the moment.”

“You know our attorneys would be all over that, darling,” his mother reminded him. She pointedly did not object to his precautions though.

Neither did Gil. “Twenty-four hours or until you tell me we’re good to go, whichever is sooner,” he promised.

With that sorted, there was only dinner, story time, and going through the files from the drive to make up the rest of his night. Or so he thought. He was trying to remember decryption protocols and the cypher they tended to use back then to re-examine some of the documents for hidden content, when he heard the muffled noises across the hallway again. He closed the laptop and tiptoed into the room on the off chance he was wrong. Sadly, he was not, and Angelica’s eyes were wide open, only this time she gripped her new teddy tightly, its miniature shield wrapped in her tiny fingers.

He met her panicked eyes and, on a whim, whispered, “Shh?”

It calmed her far more than it should have. He received a shaky nod for his efforts, but also a deep sigh of breath. He eyed the rocking chair again, but decided on other means for the evening in hopes of somewhat preserving his spine. He scooped her up and held her close, and then settled back in his own bed propped against some of the ridiculous number of pillows. She snuggled even closer and he tucked the blanket the Tarmels had gifted her with around her. He rubbed her back until he heard her snuffled little snores, and then pulled up the laptop again, decidedly not playing the video. Instead, he returned to studying the documents and even the photos included for clues. The files in the extra folder hinted at so much: blackmail, hush money, favors to the wrong sorts of people, and generally corruption at levels that surprised even him. Soon enough, he felt himself start to drift off as well. He locked everything down again and contemplated moving Angelica back to her crib. When she snuffled just a little bit louder, he decided he’d wait, just a few minutes, just to make sure she was truly out.

He awoke to the click of a camera and the warmth of a steaming hot furnace of a toddler beside him. The sun was peeking through the shades, his restraints decidedly undone, and his sister standing in the doorway cooing over something or another. “So, it’s true?” she asked. A glare, and she lowered her voice so as not to wake the child. “You actually managed to knock someone up and they trust you to not kill the kid? You barely keep Sunshine alive sometimes, Mal.”

He rolled his eyes at her antics. “Sunshine is just fine and you know it. As for whether or not Angelica is mine, we should hopefully know by tonight.”

Ainsley leaned up against the door jamb and took it all in. “She’s cute, I’ll give her that. I mean, for a drool bomb with a dirty diaper,” she grinned.

Luisa clearer her throat beside her. “Diapers can be changed. Manners, on the other hand, can take quite some time to relearn,” the older woman commented. She swept into the room just as Angelica began to stir and had her in her arms before Malcolm could protest. 

It was not her job to take care of such things and he was fairly certain she was not doing it just to keep him from bonding with the child before they knew all the facts. Then again, it hadn’t been her job to bandage his scraped knees or talk Ainsley through her first horrible cramps or to hold them both when they had their first horrible breakups. Jessica was their mother and did her best and spoiled them with ice cream and designer clothing and everything else. Luisa kept them on a slightly more practical path through simply being there for all those years. And that wasn’t even getting into Adolpho being the one to teach him how to drive and warn of where not to drag race and flat out refuse to bring him to certain places that he knew would not be in his best interest. Technically, the Whitly family had staff. In reality, the Whitly family was just a little larger than first imagined.

Malcolm pushed himself up and out of bed to start his day, but paused when a stray thought crossed his mind. It was silly, and possibly a little too “rich people” for his usual tastes, but he asked, “Hey, Ains, you seem to know where to get random things. Can I ask you a favor?”

As always, his sister was the best co-conspirator. She made some suggestions for alterations to his plan, and he let her run with it, mainly because she would have done things her way anyway and also because they were actually pretty good ideas.

With that handled, he started his day in earnest. First up was yoga, complete with the floppy baby version beside him again. Next was breakfast, or at least what his stomach could handle of it. After that was a text from Gil to stop by the office that totally derailed anything else he might have had planned. He said it would be quick and that Angelica was welcomed mainly so JT and Dani could get their fill of her, so he doubted there would be anything truly gruesome and figured it was more to do with the files found the day before. He also doubted it had anything to do with Colette trying to find a way to debunk his claim to the child as Gil most definitely would have warned about that.

He arrived with a toddler on one hip and a diaper bag on the other. The latter was one of his mother’s extra purchases from their shopping trip. It was practical enough, as proven by its use the very next day, though he doubted the need for brand was necessary for something that was to carry spare clothing, diapers, and wipes. Maisie from the front desk took one look at him and whistled lowly. “The rumor mill was right this time? Not fair that you get looks, money, and a truly adorable urchin. Tell the universe to save some for the rest of us?”

He took the teasing for what it was, especially since she was laughing as she said it. She flirted with him most days despite a loving spouse at home, and was also the one who made sure the breakroom was always fully stocked with both his and Dani’s favorite teas as well as a truly horrible creamer that JT preferred on the days he needed something other than black coffee. He had quickly learned that she was just a nice person in general, and a good person to have on his side.

He blushed and smiled at her antics, and she snapped her fingers so that Wallace would open the little gate that separated the front lobby-like area from where everyone actually worked. “Lieutenant’s in his office,” Wallace said as he passed. “Been in there all morning working on something. Please say you’re not bringing the little one to a crime scene? I’m sure someone here is willing to watch her if needed.”

“No crime scene that I am aware of, and I am certain that multiple people would have my head if it was even suggested,” he assured him. He earned a grin and a little wave to the bashful little girl curled up against him. He had the feeling the crowds and unknown people were not a favorite, which made sense if Vanessa had been keeping to the shadows and trying not to be found.

The blinds were drawn and the door to Gil’s office was closed when he approached, which furthered his belief he found something with the files and did not want to make them public knowledge yet. Colette stormed up out of nowhere with a scowl on her face and said, “I want to be there for this.” She knocked before he could, and then opened the door right away anyway.

It was not just Gil waiting for him. Dani, JT, and Edrisa were there, as well as some pink streamers and a plateful of cupcakes iced with pink and purple. “Congratulations, it’s a girl,” Gil said wryly before he broke into a smile and a full belly laugh. 

“Well, a child with two X chromosomes currently presenting as female though they may change their gender expression later in life,” Edrisa corrected. This was followed by, “Detective Powell told me that the backpack was pink so I made the assumption the child was not averse to that color. Also, they have watermelon lemonade icing, and who doesn’t like that? The cupcakes, I mean, the cupcakes have the icing. The child does not. Yet.”

JT offered him a one-armed hug and slid the diaper bag away from him to tuck somewhere in a corner. “Congrats, man,” was all he said.

That was fine as it gave Edrisa room to run across the room and toss some confetti that may or may not have been made up of intake forms at him. “I got my results back late last night and called and checked on the official ones and the forms are being couriered but everything is validated and confirmed and you are a daddy!” she babbled happily. She gently sprinkled some of her confetti into Angelica’s hair, much to the child’s glee. “Like you could fake those eyes anyway!”

He blinked. And then blinked again. He had his suspicions to say the least, especially after going through the files Nessa had left him but to find out, for certain, that it was true was a little overwhelming. “Don’t drop the kid, Bright, it’d be a bad first impression after everything’s official,” Swanson said from his side.

He turned to face her and she looked, well, happy. Or as happy as Colette Swanson could ever manage. “You…” he started, but wasn’t sure how to finish once he did.

“She’s safe and provided for and that’s what’s important,” Colette assured him. “I still want to know what drove Nessa to decide on this but, I’m not going to lie, things were getting pretty rough for her from the looks of her place. I may not be your best friend, Bright, but I know you will make sure this kid has the best life possible, whether it’s with you or someone else. For now, that’s enough.”

He nodded, stunned. Then he was stunned again when Edrisa frowned and cut in to say, “Of course it would be with him! Why wouldn’t it be? He’s going to make a great dad. Daddy. Papa? Does your family have specific nomenclature that you prefer?”

Dani physically stepped between Edrisa and Colette, a cupcake in one hand and the other covered with frosting that she licked off before she suggested, “Edrisa, why don’t you show Angelica here to the sugar? All good aunties know how to get the kids riled up before they turn them back to their parents.”

Edrisa started to head for the cupcakes and then spun back around. “Auntie? I’m an auntie! Not, like, by blood, but… Auntie!” She then paused and settled herself to ask with complete seriousness. “Miss Angelica, would you like to come with me to the sugar?”

Angelica glanced up to Malcolm, and then back to the smaller woman, and then back again. At his nod, she repeated the gesture enthusiastically. He set her down and managed to nab the ever-present teddy bear before it could become a victim of Dani’s plotting.

“Spoiling her already?” Dani asked with a grin and a nod towards the bear. She took another swipe of frosting and licked her finger again. 

“She, uh, has a fondness knights and castles, we found that out when my mother tried to drag us along for a shopping spree. I think she likes this one since it didn’t end up getting tossed across the room,” he managed. He ran his now empty hand through his hair, careful to still keep most of it in place. “Daddy?” he asked, still stunned.

“We can break out the cigars and whisky later. For now, have a cupcake,” JT told him as he approached, sugary confection in hand.

Gil walked over and rested a hand right where his shoulder met the nape of his neck. “You okay, kid? It’s a lot to take in but you had to at least think it might be true, right?”

He let them guide him over to the couch to sit down. Feeling a little more stable now, he nodded. “I mean, yeah, I suspected, but it very different to suspect versus have something confirmed,” he replied. 

Dani gestured to the bear he still held. “You’re already on the right track if you found her something she likes,” she assured him. “I have a cousin whose kid hated stuffed things. Hated them. Carried around this hard plastic dinosaur instead. Awkward like you wouldn’t believe to try to cuddle her with that.”

He knew she was trying to be comforting, but her words had pretty much the opposite effect on him. “I can’t be a dad!” he blurted. “I know nothing about children that didn’t come out of a pediatric psychology book. With my anxiety and my sleep issues and my meds and are we forgetting who my own father is? What if I make the wrong choices and she’s hurt? What if I decide to find her a better home and that’s a wrong choice too? And the loft is dangerous to anyone who’s not an adult and even some of those and…”

“Breathe, Bright,” Gil directed. Oddly, he sounded less commiserating and more amused.

He glanced up to see Dani smirk at him, eyes crinkled in the way they always did when she knew something he didn’t. “You sound like a dad already,” she told him.

JT plopped down on the couch beside him and gently tugged the bear out of his hands to replace it with a cupcake. “Yeah, your pops is a piece of work, but you’ve got us too, man. Do you really think you’re going to have go at this alone? Parents and parents-to-be worry about this stuff every day, trust me. You know what they do?”

“If they’re like my mother, drink,” he muttered, but he was able to do so because he felt his breathing begin to regulate again, and his heart slow to just pounding.

Gil offered him a look that told him he wasn’t wrong, but it was Tarmel who continued with his message. He would have questioned so many words coming out of the usually not very talkative man, but then he remembered he had gone through and was probably currently was still going through something similar. With that in mind, he made sure to listen when JT said, “They ask others. They take a break. They find a babysitter or, since you are like scarily rich, probably have one on call or whatever rich people do. They have resources, friends and colleagues and family and background checked certified and approved people to call.”

“He’s saying we’re here for you,” Dani offered from where she now perched at his side.

“Like that was ever in question,” Gil scoffed.

The cupcake still shook slightly in his hands and he had to make an active effort not to squash it, but he had to admit that he felt at least marginally better. He glanced at the pink frosting to avoid having to meet their gazes and have to watch them watch him blink back the moisture that gathered in his eyes. 

When he raised them, a tiny little thing in a green paisley tunic and striped leggings toddled forward, a smear of pink from her pursed lips up to her nose. She looked at him and pointed to her own eye, almost poking the pale, which told him he was fooling no one if a toddler could see through his ruse. She reached out and patted him on the chin as if to console him. He had a moment of disconnect as he should be the one being there for her and not the other way around and, apparently, he was screwing things up right from the beginning. 

He switched the cupcake to his right hand and held out his left to allow her closer. She ambled the last few steps and leaned up against him, finding comfort in someone she barely knew. Well, possibly comfort in more than him as, while he was distracted watching her every move and the way the light reflected in her eyes and everything else, she reached out her hand again, this time grabbing a fistful of frosting and quickly shoving it in her mouth before anyone could stop her.

He coughed out a laugh, which set the others off as well, even if there was more than a single comment about him deserving that. The best thing about it all was the Angelica herself giggled along, surprising them all. 

If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he might have missed the way her eyes grew wide right before she stopped suddenly. She glanced around nervously and, while the others still found mirth in the matter at hand, she had switched to pure panic. She had no blanket to stuff in her mouth this time, so she tried to push her hand in instead, managing to cram in four sugar-coated fingers. Her breath came in shorter and shorter bursts and was not aided by her blocking her primary airway.

Bright did what his instincts screamed at him to do and swept her up and away from the others just as the hiccupping sobs started. He carried her over to the far side of the room behind Gil’s desk and sank to the floor with her, holding her as tight as she would let him. He freed her hand from her mouth and tucked it between them to hold it in place lest she self-suffocate again. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay,” he repeated again and again. “This is a safe place, you can make sound here, I promise.”

He ran his own hand up and down the knobs of her spine knowing that had always worked when Gil had done that when he was young. It didn’t settle her completely, but she buried her head against him and he counted it as a win anyway. He tried to remember what else might work and took as big and exaggerated breath as he could and let it out slowly. He did that a few times until she naturally tried to copy him, her own body pressed close enough that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest and started to match herself to him.

A shadow formed at the edge of his vision, only there was enough of a presence to it that he knew it wasn’t a hallucination. He glanced up to see Gil himself at the far end of his desk, giving them both space and privacy as needed. He held the little bear in its little knight’s costume in his hands. At Malcolm’s nod, he approached slowly and crouched down beside them to offer out the toy. When Angelica clumsily freed one fist and grabbed for it, head still hung low and eyes determinedly not looking at anyone else, Gil waited until she buried her face in the soft fur before he said, “Giggles are always welcomed, especially here. You can giggle until your heart’s content, I promise you. And I should know because this is my office.”

Malcolm kept up the movement of his hand, up and down and up again. “I know you had to stay so very quiet to stay safe before. You were so good and tried so hard. And guess what? You made it! You’re safe. And I promise you that I am going to do everything in my power to keep it that way. Okay, sweetie?” He felt the tension in her tiny frame slowly begin to loosen and, based upon a very strong suspicion, he tried one more thing. “Okay, Angel?”

Angelica’s head shot up so fast that he didn’t completely avoid the collision with his chin. He found watery pale blue eyes gazing up at him, questioning why he knew that name, why he was calling her that. Then, with the logic of a two-year-old, she decided it didn’t matter and crashed into him with full force, bear smushed up against him while she tried to wrap her arms around him as much as possible.

“I think we found a winner,” Gil commented quietly.

They stayed like that for a few more minutes until Angelica’s breath evened out. The little puffs of snores against neck told him that she had worn herself out with her emotional outburst, which was not exactly surprising given he had done the same himself in the past. He tried not to jostle her too much when he stood, thankful for his yoga because that took some core work to do so, and was surprised to find the others still waiting for them in near silence.

JT had pulled the silky blanket out of the diaper bag and rearranged the pillows on the couch to make little nest for her. When Malcolm lowered her down and tucked the blanket around her, he scoffed, “Not dad material, huh?”

“Clearly he knows nothing about children,” Dani agreed drily. She dabbed at the smear that was equal parts frosting and drool on his shirt, but he knew it was a lost cause without professional intervention, much like most things in his life. When she stepped back to offer him his own spot on the couch, he caught a glimpse of where Colette watched him curiously and Edrisa beamed proudly as though he had just proven her earlier point.

Now that she was safe and calmed, his own emotions tried to take control. He pushed them back into their careful little boxes to deal with later, the only remaining sign of their betrayal the tremor in his hand. They were waiting for an explanation, he was certain, so he cleared his throat and said, “The other night, I caught her having a nightmare. Both nights, really, which is to be expected being in a strange place with strange people. Only I knew she was having one because I heard her. Kind of. She kept trying to quiet herself, kept making shushing… I made the assumption that at least some of her silence is a learned response. Vanessa didn’t want her to make noise, at least at certain times, and, with the logic of a two-year-old…”

“She translated it into always,” Colette finished for him. She seemed to accept his explanation on its own, and he was glad for it. Both he and Gil had decided not to share the video with her, at least not yet, even if he turned over the remaining files he had received. If Vanessa didn’t know who to trust, and clearly did not trust even Swanson enough to let her in on what was going on, he wasn’t about to until he had more evidence. It might have been just paranoia on the part of a stressed out woman who had been on the run for too long, or it could have been trained instincts. He was going to assume the latter for the time being as it was safer for Angelica if no one else.

“Poor kid,” Dani commented. She had crouched down beside her and ran her fingers through the sweaty curls, smoothing them back from her face. Angelica nuzzled into the contact, seeking comfort even in her sleep.

“Did we figure out more about who she was running from yet?” Bright asked. He could deal with data. Facts and figures and evidence that he could sort and organize and make sense of more than the current chaos of his life.

“If she was even running at all,” Colette corrected.

He ignored the jibe out of long practice and looked instead to his usual team. “Nothing concrete beyond a gut feeling,” JT said with a shake of his head. It reminded Bright that he should probably share at least the video portion sooner rather than later, but only if they could get Colette out of the picture, or at least out of viewing and hearing range when he did so.

Dani cleared her throat, so he turned his attention to her. “I totally violated your privacy but figured you’d be okay with it if it got us any information,” she started, and her lips twitched into a hint of a smirk when he acknowledged she was probably correct. “I pulled security footage from outside your building during the window between when you got to work and when we found your kid. I was going to pull from outside of your mom’s place too, but figured her fancy lawyers would have my head.”

Legitimate, but he said, “You have my permission. If needed, I’ll get you a text from the matriarch herself.” His mother had a relatively high-end security system before the Watkins incident, and improved upon it greatly after the attack. He knew Dani well enough to know she already had her hands on the footage and was just waiting for the go ahead from him. Between her and JT, they had angled Dani so that Colette couldn’t get a clear line of sight to read her nearly as well as he was currently doing so. This told him that they didn’t trust a certain FBI agent either.

“Did you find anything of worth?” Swanson asked, intrigued anyway.

Dani motioned towards Gil’s desk, meaning she had already sent him a copy. Colette might hover over her to verify she only had the one file, but she wouldn’t cross the Lieutenant without an actual case and actual orders. Gil started to pull up whatever he was willing to show in front of an audience, but Malcolm was a little reluctant to leave Angelica’s side quite so soon after her episode. Dani had that covered as well and shooed him out of the way to resume her previous spot running her fingers through the child’s hair, a silent promise that she’d know if anything woke her and let him know about it.

He moved to stand just behind Gil’s right shoulder and was not surprised when Colette moved to stand behind the left. JT must have also seen it already as he stood off to the side, the screen just barely visible but clearly he knew what was going to happen as he gave the commentary. “Hooded figure with a kid picks your lock. Hooded figure disappears inside with the kid but returns without one. Hooded figure just happens to wander down to outside that café with clear sightlines on your building until we arrive, randomly pacing back towards the door and resting against it.”

Bright watched as the scene played out just as recited. A smaller figure with the build of a female and a few dark curls escaping from the hooded sweatshirt they wore truly did stay nearby almost up to the second that they arrived. They made a show of looking like they were alternately texting and talking on their phone, but that could have been a cover for talking through the door to the child on the other side. He didn’t remember seeing anyone dressed like that when they arrived but, to be fair, his mind was on other things at the time.

“She never truly left her alone,” he guessed, a not-so-small part of him relieved at that revelation.

“Which means any child endangerment charges will be much harder to stick,” JT pointed out.

Colette shook her head, but it was not in denial. “But why not stay and talk to us? Explain what she was doing? She would have recognized us, at least she would have recognized me and probably Bright.”

“Because she knew we’d try to talk her out of it,” Malcolm guessed. He would have. He also knew he would have offered her cash and help creating false identities if needed, but wasn’t going to mention that in front of a Federal agent.

“I don’t get it!” Swanson sighed, exasperated. She rubbed at her face, just shy of smudging her perfect makeup. 

“She didn’t know who to trust,” Malcolm answered, careful to make the observation not quite as pointedly as he originally wanted to. “I don’t know why she chose me of all people aside from the biological tie. I have the means to protect the child, but I could have helped protect her as well if she had just given me the chance. This was an act of desperation, but an act made with care. She truly felt there was no other option, but her motherly instincts made her unable to walk away completely without verifying her child was safe.”

“Motherly instincts?” Colette scoffed. “She abandoned her baby girl in the middle of New York!” Her voice began to raise near the end, but she at least looked ashamed when she glanced over to make sure Angelica was still asleep.

“She brought the kid to the kid’s dad’s place and stuck around until the dad showed up,” JT corrected with emphasis on the paternal title. Then again, maybe Malcolm was reading too deeply into that part.

Gil closed everything down before anyone could get too curious as to what else he had on his desktop. “If you add in all of the properly executed paperwork and the pediatrician’s verification of the health of the child, we’re not going to have a case. I’ve worked enough child endangerment cases, as have you I’m sure, to know this would be an incredibly uphill battle at best, and thrown out completely as the most likely result.”

“But, why?” Colette asked. It didn’t take a profiler to see that she was truly worked up about it. Malcolm couldn’t stop himself from trying to get a read on her anyway. Was she the distraught ex mad because she hadn’t been confided in? Was she an agent that was upset she missed something despite all of her training? Was she a profiler looking for more data? Or was she involved with those after Vanessa and wanted more information to track her whereabouts? Any and all were possibilities. She was trained like he was to give very little away but he was proud to say he had always scored higher on certain tests than she did and could see some of her façade chipping away. She was worried. She was upset she missed something. But he still couldn’t tell if she hiding something more.

Edrisa interrupted his train of thought by hustling back into the room and he wasn’t proud to admit he had missed her slipping out while they watched the footage. She had a courier envelope in her hands and waved it at him. “We had requested a copy of the results of your DNA test be delivered here for file management reasons,” she explained as she handed the envelope over. “So now, on top of my own test, you have irrefutable proof of parentage.”

Gil took the envelope before he could open it himself. “If this is our copy, maybe not let the potential father see it first?” he suggested.

Edrisa rolled her eyes and openly scoffed at him in her usual nervous way. “Even though we already know the results? Unless you are saying my tests were faulty which, admittedly, mistakes can be made by anyone at any time but I was extremely careful with this and, besides, they literally already told me and I literally already told you all…”

Gil looked amused more than aggrieved. He opened the envelope with pointed slowness that seemed to entertain Dani and JT and maybe Colette as well. He carefully read through the contents before he slid them back into place and tucked them in his desk drawer. Turning in his chair to face him, Gil deadpanned, “I know this is a surprise, but you are a father.”

“Still not used to those words,” he admitted, despite the way JT clapped him on the shoulder and assured him that he would be, eventually.

“So, what does this mean for any potential case?” Dani asked, voice still lowered in deference to the sleeping child. “The child endangerment angle is still there, but far less viable. We could approach it as a missing persons case, but it’s pretty clear that this person would prefer not to be found.”

Colette put her hands on her hips. “I’m going with missing person,” she declared. “If she is running from something, it could mean that she is now an at-risk individual, and it would be in everyone’s best interests if she were to be found. If there was a crime, she could be a material witness, or a potential additional victim.”

Bright actively fought to show no outward response to her words. It did help solidify in his mind that not telling Swanson about everything found thus far was the correct decision though. That she would switch to ignoring Angelica so quickly told him that the child had just been little more than a means to locate Vanessa in the first place. He still wasn’t sure if the need to find Nessa was due to their past ties or something more nefarious, but it really put a dent in any reparations he had been developing with the agent that she would dismiss his kid as unimportant. 

His kid. His. He was responsible for a tiny life. He needed to decide what was best for her, a decision that would influence the rest of her existence. He could hand her off to a fully vetted and likely far better suited family to raise her where she would eventually find out that she was abandoned by not one but both of her parents. The psychological trauma, no matter how well-adjusted she may be when that was revealed, would leave a mark, to say the least. But so would tying her to him, to his family with all of their own traumas that everyone would assume she was indelibly marked with on a damn near genetic level. 

His hand began to tremble and he fisted it in a weak attempt to make it stop. He was surprised to find something soft and pliable between his fingers when he did, and looked down to see a stress ball in the guise of a baseball with a Yankees logo stamped across it. He glanced up to find Gil watching him knowingly, and also to find both Colette and Dani were already headed for the door.

“She wants the rest of the footage obtained in hopes of finding how Monroe left the scene,” Gil explained as clearly Malcolm hadn’t been tracking when that announcement was made. “If by vehicle, she hopes to follow it via cameras and the tollways.”

JT had taken up Dani’s previous place as a sentinel beside the sleeping child. Arms crossed, feet shoulder width apart, it looked like he dared the world to come at him, and Malcolm kind of envied the confidence at the moment. “You gonna be alright, Bright? Or do you need a little stuffed knight of your own?” he asked with a smirk.

He squeezed the ball tightly and tried to return the attitude with some of his own that he knew fell short of its mark. “I don’t know, do they make Build-a-Bears in my size?”

JT pretended to consider that for a moment before he said, “I mean, you’re not much bigger than a kid, so I guess yes?”

The banter comforted him more than he would let on, which was fine as clearly the people left in the room already knew he needed it. Edrisa proved this when she asked, “But would yours be another knight? Or, ooh! Do they make little business suits? I’m sure your mother could find one. You could carry a little stuffed version of you around to deal with all the stuff you don’t want to!”

“The last thing this world needs is two Malcolm Brights, even if one of them would be stuffed and less likely to run off into trouble,” Gil cut in.

Even Edrisa conceded that. However, she proved that she was far more observant than most people assumed when she next asked, “Are you going to tell us what else you found? Or do you want plausible deniability? I mean, I can leave if you don’t trust me not to blab it, which I promise you is actually not going to happen as I am actually good at keeping secrets. I just deflect with excess data until people tell me to shut up.”

She adjusted her glasses and waited for a response. With his pointed look at the door, her shoulders slumped slightly as though in defeat and she started towards it. It was Gil though, who said, “Edrisa, could you please close the door and then come help us review this? We’d hate for the noise from the bullpen to wake Angelica.”

She blinked, surprised, and then moved to just that. She made a show of carrying the bright pink backpack near the sleeping child as though in explanation to the few faces that peered in via the doorway curiously before she went back and carefully shut it.

Satisfied that the ruse was as good as it was going to get, Bright announced, “Vanessa left a USB drive that included a video. I do believe she is on the run, but I am not sure from who just yet.”

“And if Swanson isn’t in the loop, we’re going to keep it that way until either she proves herself or Monroe herself approves it,” JT guessed. He didn’t wait for a response as it wasn’t truly a question before he agreed, “Probably a good decision. Did you want me to tell Powell, or were you going to once she was free? We can be an extra set of eyes if you need it even though you have that insanely detailed profiler thing going on.”

“I honestly want to show you the video itself in case I missed something,” he admitted. “I’ve been over it, more than a few times even, but I’m looking from the perspective of, well, me.”

“And we’d be looking at it like cops,” JT finished for him. Then, as Edrisa had opened her mouth as if to make a correction, he did it for her by adding, “And forensics experts.” She beamed.

“And no one here has any issues with the fact we are technically hiding evidence from the FBI?” Malcolm confirmed.

Edrisa made a face of confusion, or at least mock confusion as he could see the twinkle in her eyes. “Evidence would mean that it is pertinent to an investigation. There is no current case as previously stated and I have received no intake forms with any preliminary investigative requests,” she announced.

“And, if she did, she would have probably made more confetti out of them,” JT pointed out. He tucked his phone away and said, “Dani can give us at least thirty, how long is this video?”

Malcolm had feared the risk of Angelica waking to the sound of her mother’s voice, but Edrisa had that handled. First, she promised it was unlikely the child would wake given her current state of exhaustion. Second, she produced a set of headphones from her pocket and held them up in offering. “I use them when replaying my findings, or for listening to music. The best part is that no one knows which and usually leave me alone. Well, unless I start singing along…”

He let them at it and tried not to offer any of his own suspicions lest he influence their findings. He had the entire thing memorized, every hitch of breath and every tiny rumble in the background that could be static or could be a child climbing out of bed to go see what her mother was doing. He focused on the child herself instead. The way that she gripped the teddy bear tightly and drooled into one of the pillows and nuzzled into the blanket, all while thoroughly passed out. The way her sweaty little curls clung to her forehead and to the smear of frosting across her cheek. The way that she was living and breathing and whole.

He knew when they finished by JT’s announcement of, “Well, the girl is definitely terrified of something. Possibly terrified for something, as in convinced that whatever’s chasing her is close and going to use the kid to get to her.”

He nodded in agreement and then turned to Edrisa for her findings. “She has mild bruising near her sphenoid and across the zygomatic arch. She used makeup to mostly conceal it, but it’s swollen enough to notice. Her hair is mostly covering it, but there’s a scrape on her jawline as well. Likely she was thrown against a wall or an upright support of some sort. The scrapes on her knuckles indicate the likelihood that she fought back as well.”

He had seen the knuckles but had to admit he had missed the others, even with all of his rewatches. “It could be that whoever she is running from finally got close enough,” he mused. “The fight, and likely proximity to Angelica, might have been what pushed her over the edge to make this decision.”

“Looks like another cheap motel room,” JT pointed out. “Resolution behind her isn’t the greatest, but it could even be the one we found.” That matched his own suspicions as well. He guessed that she made the video, dropped off Angelica and hid the drive, and then returned to leave the clues as to where to find it. She would have left after that, not risking anyone having followed her from there and having far greater ease of movement without her tiny companion.

“If this was a spur of the moment thing brought on by a recent encounter, how would she have the paperwork ready to go?” Gil questioned.

Edrisa pushed up her glasses and shrugged. “If she suspected they were getting close and had a contingency plan? The medical records wouldn’t have taken that long, especially if she hacked them. Standardized form for the abandoning of parental rights, she could have made alterations and had at them ready for when needed. You can get anything notarized at even a bank as they are swearing to your identity only and not that the information on the documents would be something they personally are aware of and had a say in.”

“Get the documents drafted, keep a running record of med files, set up the letters to be sent and found… She could have gone from months of prep to implementation in a matter of days, maybe a week,” JT agreed.

“So the question is, what was the trigger event? What made her decide to finally act?” he asked the air around him more than anyone in particular.

“Angelica got involved,” Gil guessed. He leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Kid had a healing bruise and scratch when we found her. They finally got close enough to put the child directly at risk, and Monroe decided that risk was unacceptable.”

“How old are the injuries?” Tarmel asked. 

“It’s difficult to tell based on solely a video, but I would say four to five days?” Edrisa replied. “This is supposing unverified factors such as the severity of the contact, rapidity of treatment, and the amount of makeup used. Based on standard methods, if she hit a textured wall with at least the force of her own body weight slightly accelerated as though pushed? Yes, that sounds about right. Why?”

“Because I’m going to search Urgent Cares and hospitals for intake of blunt force traumas within the last week then,” JT replied. Off of Malcolm’s questioning look regarding the unlikelihood Vanessa would have gone to such a thing, he explained, “Anyone lay hands on my kid and I’m taking them down. If she didn’t outright shoot them and dispose of the body, assuming a difficult choice with a toddler present, she would have incapacitated them and fled. A good crack to the head with anything solid that was available might have been enough to get her and the urchin away.”

Malcolm internally debated what he could do to assist with the unofficial investigation, but Gil beat him to the punch. “Did you need a ride home, kid?” he asked. When Bright hesitated to respond, he made it far less of a question and far more of a direction. “I can help carry her or her belongings to the car. Did you need me to drive, or is Adolpho coming? She needs rest in a little less chaotic place, and you need to be there for when she proves she’s your kid and wakes up anyway.”

He agreed that discretion was the better part of valor and that he didn’t actually need to be at the station at the given moment. He also didn’t actually need to be at the house that he didn’t actually live in, but Gil didn’t need to know that part. He packed up Angelica and her belongings and had Adolpho drop him off at his loft. It gave him a chance to check in on Sunshine, grab some extra clothes, and maybe silently debate if the building was salvageable as a living space for a child even if he really wasn’t sure what his final decision was at the moment. 

If he was to be honest with himself, something his therapist tried so hard to make him be, he may have possibly already have made a decision. He realized that when he held the definitive papers in his hand and had the stray thought of whether he should call his mother and pull the trigger on which school to decide upon. That may have been another reason why he went back to the loft versus dealing with her enthusiasm. He wouldn’t lie to her, not about this, and would be caught up so quickly in the whirlwind that was Jessica Whitly set on a mission versus having a moment to truly and utterly think of the consequences of his actions.

If Vanessa was on the run, which seemed likely, he and his family had the resources to keep Angelica protected. If they were to give her up, even with sealed documents and a changed name, and the connection was made to her true identity and she was therefore put at risk, Malcolm wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Nessa had trusted him. It might have been a misplaced trust based upon a desperate choice, but she sent their child to him versus anonymously dropping her somewhere with absolutely no traceable ties. It’s not like they had a deep enough connection that he felt the need to honor her in such a way, and yet he wanted to. Keep the child safe. Honor the mother’s decision. Prove to himself that he’s not as broken as the world claimed.

He really hoped that last part wasn’t playing too much of a deciding factor.

Angelica had woken slightly on the trip up the steps, drowsily let him change her diaper, and even more drowsily sipped at a supposedly spill-proof cup of watered-down juice while he dealt with Sunshine. Her pale eyes barely tracked the bird, which was another sign of her lingering exhaustion. He watched as, minutes later, she curled up on his couch with her bear in one hand and JT’s blanket in the other. He tucked an extra blanket of his own around her and she barely stirred, so he let her be for now.

He took the opportunity to look around the loft. His weapons case was already locked, but he could improve the security if needed. The loft as a whole would get an upgraded system, and meals would need to switch from the high kitchen island to an actual table, preferably not just the one in the living room area. Baby gates for the staircase, top and bottom, were a given. His upper level held his office and a small guest room with an ensuite. It wasn’t like he had much beyond a bed and a dresser on the first level and even stored some of his special occasion clothing up there anyway. If he flipped his office to the first floor, his bedroom to the guest room, and made the office a kid’s room, it would be workable for at least a while. The shelves there were technically not fully built-in, and could be moved with effort. He’d hire a contractor, of course. Someone who could be trusted and was vetted by his mother and possibly Gil.

He shook his head. This was madness. A DNA test did not suddenly make all of his own issues go away. True, recently resolving a huge chunk of his past had taken away so many of his nightmares and hallucinations, but he knew he was far from one hundred percent. He had an incredible support system now with Gil and Dani and JT and Edrisa. They understood him on levels so few even tried to approach. That comfort settled his mind in ways he had only dreamed of in the past and was possibly better than pharmaceuticals at times. Even then, though, he still averaged at least one nightmare a week, and some of them graduated into full night terrors. It was back to how it was back when he worked with the FBI, before he dealt with his father on a regular basis to ignite every fear and insecurity again.

His father. 

He needed to keep Angelica from his father. He would not allow him to use her as a pawn for his own plans. Which meant that he needed to keep himself from his father. Their deal was technically null and void now, even if Martin left him at least one voicemail a day minimum. He had no reason to seek him out besides an inner drive embedded in him for some reason. If he could break that drive, it would be better for all involved. Then again, he had been trying to do precisely that for nearly twenty years. He had mostly managed nearly a decade before, the distance aiding in ways his mind could not. Maybe it was time to give it another go.

His mind fell to his support system again. The support system that already fought his need to go. If he voiced his hesitance, even hinted at it in front of them, they would help limit his urges that much further. Yes, they had occasionally needed Martin Whitly’s expertise as both a doctor and a serial killer, but other departments got by just fine without boosting a psychopath’s ego so maybe it was time they did so as well. They knew his information was biased and it always came at a cost. If that cost was no longer just to himself? He was fine throwing himself under the bus, but refused to risk another.

Risk a child.

Risk his child.

Risk that, instead of drawing her mother’s enemies down upon her, he drew his own. Tie her to the Whitly name and tie her to all that wanted to end that name.

He could feel himself begin to spiral again. He was not the best option for the child, but he was better than some. His mother had teased that Katia could have a field day with their family, and she was not far off. His father pushed his hopes and expectations into him as a child, and screwed him up for life. While part of him feared doing the same to Angelica, a voice in the back of his head reminded him of one very large distinction: he was not an egotistic serial killer. 

That voice sounded suspiciously like Gil. 

There was another voice that countered that taking on the child was simply an attempt to right the wrongs that had been perpetrated against himself and that he would not see her as an individual, but as something to fix, something to cure. That voice sounded like his father and he had learned long ago that the advice of one Gil Arroyo strongly outweighed any advice of one Martin Whitly.

He needed to make a decision, and he needed to make it soon. Aside from the fact that his mother would also try to sway him, Angelica deserved a defined path to all of the wonders her future may hold, whether that future was with him or someone else. As he started to order baby gates “just for the interim” he had to admit to himself that the decision had already been made. The fact that the order included far more than just the gates just sealed the deal.

His loft held very little of nutritional value to a toddler. To an adult either, but his system could get by with far less than what was usually deemed healthy. He was tempted to order dinner and spend the night in his own bed, but knew enough to wait until the place was moderately secured to make that attempt. With that in mind, when his mother texted to see what time he would be home for dinner, he texted back that he would be at her place once a ride was arranged. He wondered if she picked up on the distinction of nomenclature. He also wondered if he should maybe finally get a car of his own as he had a license, there was a secured garage close enough, and hauling a car seat via various rideshares was not necessarily the easiest route.

His mother would suggest the most expensive. Gil loved cars, but he loved pretty cars that went fast and were perhaps not the best for a child. Dani and JT always went the route of practical and he had absolutely no idea what Edrisa drove if she drove at all. She just appeared places, usually with her team and their fancy van. He was not ready for the minivan life. Something smaller for the two of them and the occasional friend or gear would be best and there he went again, spiraling but in a different way all together.

First things first. Pack an overnight bag so he had his own items and not his spares for the next day. Add a locked medicine cabinet to his order as he didn’t need her getting into those. A double-check to make sure Sunshine was set with food and water. A tug on his pants leg. A hand drawing him to his own bathroom where he had left the wipes and diapers. Add potty training supplies to the order as she was showing the early signs of caring about such things. Repack the diaper bag for the trip. Carry Angelica down the steps to speed things up a bit. Pause at the bottom of the steps when he found a small cluster of little blue flowers waiting for him.

He glanced around before he approached the waiting Adolpho, but there were no less than six smallish figures in hoodies nearby and even more if he expanded his gaze out a tiny bit more. There was no telling if any of them were Nessa or someone she trusted. He was certain the gift was from her, directly or not, and he itched to see if there was any further message left with it. He helped get Angelica seated and belted in, and then darted back to the flowers, disappointed to see only a generic unsigned thank you card tucked underneath them. He grabbed them anyway and tucked them into the pocket of the bag he still had slung over his shoulder. He doubted there was anything more to them, but was not willing to take the risk that he was wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner with his mother went as well as expected. She knew he likely had the results of the tests and awaited them possibly even more eagerly than he had himself. As soon as he told her, she was in seventh heaven plotting and planning and going on about schools and repainting rooms and redesign of the house and a thousand and one other things that he knew she would steamroll right over him about if given the chance.

He was going to object, really, he was. He just needed to get his shaking hand under control enough to lower his spoon and address her correctly. Before he got the chance to do so, he discovered that, every once in a while, there were times he was thankful for his little sister. “Mom, stop!” Ainsley bit out.

Jessica Whitly was rarely talked over, so it was always a shock to her. The fact that the person doing so was one of her children less so, however. She paused and blinked and protested, “Ainsley, darling, there is so much to do and plan for. It’s best if we start now versus wiling the time away.”

Ainsley was having none of that. “There is no we, there is a he. There is Malcolm. The father. The one who gets to make those decisions and a whole lot more including, but not limited to, if he feels that it is in Angelica’s best interests to be raised by him, or by possibly a slightly more sane and slightly less damaged family.”

“Of course he has a say!” their mother assured her in the voice that meant anything but that. She turned towards the toddler in question and her smile melted to something far more genuine. “And why wouldn’t he want to keep this adorable little angel?”

Angelica all but cooed at the name, clearly a favorite, but Ainsley raised her eyebrows and replied, “I don’t know, maybe roughly thirty years of scarring trauma from his own childhood that he wouldn’t want to inflict on another?” She shot him an apologetic glance for that one, but even he had to admit she was not wrong. “Look, I personally think Mal will make an excellent father. He’d dote and spoil and probably have her reading Freud and Jung by the time her classmates tied their shoes. I, of course, would be the excellent aunt that taught her the important things like fashion sense and how to climb ladders both in the figurative and physical sense. But this is his choice, mom, not ours.”

He decided that the whole it being his choice thing meant he should probably step in and have a say for himself before the two of them handled even that for him. “Thank you, Ains,” he said, mainly to draw the attention back to himself. “And it is my choice. One of many to make.”

“You’ve already decided!” she crowed in victory, complete with nearly dancing in her seat. She then raised her hand to her mouth to stop herself from continuing and gestured for him to have his say while he could.

He allowed it, mainly because it would be stupid not to. “I… I think I have,” he admitted. “I want to keep her. I want to raise her. But I want to do this my way. And my way is not here, not now. Maybe later in life to keep the house in the family and all that, but she’s coming home with me. For now, that home is the loft and, yes, I have ideas on how to make some changes there. I will accept, and even require, input and help and everything else. But, like you said, it’s my choice. In the end, she is my responsibility, not yours.”

“Seeing how you are and always will be my responsibility, she is therefore by default also mine, but I respect your decision,” his mother said, rather diplomatically for her. She then pouted and added, “But does this mean I get to spoil her rotten like any good grandmother should now?”

“Like you weren’t before?” Ainsley snorted. She turned her attention to the girl in question and, in a slightly softer voice, said, “Hello, Miss Angelica. My name is Auntie Ainsley and I am going to help you get into all the best kinds of trouble.”

Little round cheeks dimpled at that and Angelica made a tiny wheeze of a noise that she herself either didn’t notice or thought was quiet enough to be allowed. Ainsley giggled back at her, pleased with the reaction. She was slightly less pleased at the offer of mashed potatoes sans utensils, but politely declined while Malcolm rushed to correct the behavior. “Angelica, sweetie, she has her own food. If you’re good and finish everything, maybe she can share a dessert with you though.”

In her best newscaster voice, his sister enthused, “You heard it here first, the promise of sugar!”

She actually upheld that promise and shared a handful of bites from the tart Luisa had made, keeping the child’s attention on her while he and his mother ironed out a few details of the transfer of items to his place. They remained at the table and kept engaged with her as much as with each other, the entire family picking up on his unspoken need to be ready and available to her, to not abandon her, especially so early into their new relationship. He still didn’t know why she trusted him, what Nessa had done to help that along, but he was latching onto it for now.

When Luisa came by to clear the dishes, she watched the family a little indulgently before she commented, “Oh, sure, the sweet things she eats. Truly your child, Mr. Bright.”

Malcolm shrugged as that was fair enough. He also now realized that Angelica really did have a preference for sugar over anything else. True, she was a child and a lot of children had a sweet tooth, but he also remembered the nurse’s advice. With that in mind, he said, “It was recommended that she have a slightly more protein-rich diet, but she seems to be struggling with meat, even the few pieces of chicken we gave her, and didn’t touch the lentils. I was thinking of trying some of the smoothies I saw while researching last night. Milk, a nut butter since she seems to have no allergies to either per the tests, and maybe a fruit of some sort to get the sweetness in? Or maybe just start with almond milk or a soy-based yogurt and add some fruit?”

He earned a rare frown from the older woman for that. “And you did not feel the need to share dietary requirements with the one who makes your meals?” she chided. She wasn’t angry, that he could tell, but she seemed disappointed and mildly concerned, which was almost worse. “A simple drink such as that could have easily been added and will be until you request otherwise. Possibly for you as well,” she teased as she looked at his own plate and the amount of food remaining on it.

“Anything has to be better than that horrible Horlick’s we used to try to shove down your throat when your food issues were at their worst,” Jessica admitted. She turned to him and eyed his plate as well for a moment, and he had the distinct feeling many smoothies were in his own future, whether he wanted them or not. If nothing else, maybe Angelica would be more willing to try the concoctions if she saw him suffer the same fate.

After dinner, they retired to the sitting room, mainly because Ainsley insisted. He had seen that she had left a package in there when he arrived, and assumed she had implemented her plan. “Already?” he asked, surprised. “How did you get them so fast?”

She gave him the look of the truly unimpressed. “We’re rich, Mal. People do things quickly for money. Plus, you said she’s woken up every night, so maybe this will work to help with that? A protective shield of sorts?”

She was clearly pleased with her little pun as she opened up the box to reveal its contents. Inside were two tiny shields set to match the armor Angelica’s bear wore. One was sized to fit the bear itself, and one was a little larger and obviously for the toddler. He reached in, pleased to find it was made of soft padded fabric with no hard edges, and then took in the design with a smile. It was a standard badge shape with a facsimile of the actual Milton coat of arms with its broad phoenix-like bird highlighted in gold and red and blue, but only on one half of it. The other half was divided into two parts, with the top being a bright shining starburst of a sun in the same gold, and the bottom being the distinctive aster flowers in blue.

“It’s perfect,” he told her, and kissed her cheek in thanks.

She beamed, and rightfully so. The work was beautiful and even seemed made to withstand the wear and tear of a child. He noticed an extra package wrapped in cloth at the bottom of the box, but she reached for it before he could question it out loud. She unwrapped it and revealed several embroidered patches with the same design, all no bigger than the palm of his hand.

“When she inevitably loses one or both of those, we have backups until we can reorder,” she explained. She tucked one into the pocket of the suitcoat she wore and handed one to their mother, who looked at it quizzically. The rest, she handed to Malcolm, cloth package and all. He was pleased to see enough in there to not only tuck in multiple areas, but to possibly hand out to certain friends and surrogate father figures.

Angelica was a little confused, or at least was until Ainsley fit the tiny shield onto the now ever-present bear, and then handed her the slightly larger one. She seemed to catch on after that, though Ainsley’s explanation probably helped. “Every good knight has a shield of her very own. Shields protect. You see one of these, and you know you are safe, okay?”

Angelica looked down at the shield in question, then back up to the woman who gifted her with it. She smiled brightly and hugged what she could reach of her, bear and shield smushed in between them both. Above the curly dark head, his sister mouthed the words, “Best. Aunt. Ever.”

Getting the little girl to fall asleep that night was an adventure. Either the excitement of the day or the fact she had crashed so hard earlier meant that she truly did not feel the need to lay down. He could tell she was tired, just as he could tell it would be a losing battle, at least for a while. His mother teased that she had inherited his sleep issues, but kissed them both on the cheek and let him sit and rock her for a while as he read. He had pulled out some classic fairy tales that she was enamored with and, somewhere between the fifth and sixth one, she drifted off. He read a seventh just to be sure, and then tucked her in, safe and sound with her bear and her shield and her newly preferred blanket.

As for himself, he knew he’d be up for a while yet. He pulled up both the locked down laptop to review the files it held again, and then his usual one to see what new information JT and Dani had sent on a slightly larger screen than his phone offered. Colette was fairly certain she had seen what car the woman she thought was Vanessa had gotten into, and managed to follow it for several miles before it disappeared and was not found on any further feeds that they could access. It was possible that it was Nessa, that he had to admit. It was also possible that she was followed even then as he spotted the same sedan behind the vehicle of interest, and that one did not have the distinctive Lyft logo on it.

Eventually, his eyes began to droop and he fought back an actual yawn. He locked everything down, and then locked himself in for the night. He knew he had been lucky to make it the past few nights with no serious issues, especially with all of the newfound stress his life had been gifted with. With that in mind, he was absolutely not surprised when his luck ran out.

He awoke with a gasp, throat not sore enough to indicate he had fully screamed. His shirt clung to him like the remnants of what his unconscious mind had just played out. He had been at Claremont, in his father’s cell, the definitely not-good Doctor Martin Whitly tenderly holding Angelica in his arms. They were both bowed over a body lain prone on the floor, a body that looked suspiciously like Vanessa, and his father was guiding the scalpel in his granddaughter’s hand towards her mother. The echo of the words, “That’s my girl,” still played out while he orientated himself with the fact that he was safe, not in his usual room but in the room at his mother’s, and he was nowhere near the psychiatric hospital.

He felt the need to check on Angelica. It was silly as he knew it was a dream, but he couldn’t help himself. He flipped open the latches on his cuffs and swung his feet around towards the floor, only to find her standing in the doorway. Her pale eyes were wide, her hair a mess of snarls, but she bravely toddled over towards him and laid a hand on his knee.

“Grownups have nightmares too,” he told her as he tried to catch his breath. “Everyone has something they are afraid of, and that’s okay. These are just dreams, and dreams can’t hurt us, even if it feels like they might sometimes.” He wasn’t sure if he was convincing himself more than her, but hoped that maybe it’d be a two for one deal.

He felt something poke him in the side and looked down to see her offering him her little soft shield, still clutching her bear with its own in her other hand. 

He resolutely did not cry, even if he had to blink away a suspicious wetness a few times before he managed, “That one’s yours. It’s there to keep you safe.” She poked him with it again and he fumbled for the little cloth packet on his bedside table to pull out one of the smaller embroidered versions. “I’ve got mine right here,” he promised her.

That was apparently sufficient for her as she held both the bear and the shield closely again. She glanced back to the doorway and then to him again, tiny lip held between tinier teeth. She lifted her eyes hopefully towards the bed, even with its mess of blankets and still visible restraints. 

“You sure you want to join me?” he verified.

She nodded and tried to climb right up, accepting his assistance when she almost toppled backwards. She blatantly stole one of his pillows and tried to tug at least the sheet up and over herself. He helped with that as well and, soon enough, she snuggled into his side. 

“Kind of proud of you that it took only three nights to figure out how to escape that crib,” he told her as he smoothed her hair back away from her face. She beamed up at him in response and he knew that the lack of speech clearly did not mean a lack of understanding. “Can I assume you usually slept on a hotel bed or something similar while on the run with mommy?” Her lip trembled a little at the mention of the missing parent, but she nodded again. “What do you say we split the difference and get you a toddler bed instead? A little less height to deal with getting in and out all on your own?”

He grabbed his phone from the same bedside table as the badges and pulled up the site he was becoming all too familiar with. They spent the next twenty minutes or so scrolling through images with him cataloging things she smiled at versus scrunched up her nose at. Eventually, she drifted off again and he contemplated which of the top three picks to choose from as well as which sheet and comforter set should go along with it. It was entirely possible he was going to spoil her rotten. When he glanced down at her drooling cherubic features, he decided that was a chance he was willing to take.

It was his mother that found them in the morning, already dressed with her hair and makeup done up as always. He had, despite his best attempts, dozed off again while half-propped up on a mound of pillows with Angelica curled against his hip. She raised one perfect eyebrow and conceded, “Three nights to escape the crib isn’t bad. It’s nice to know she inherited your intelligence along with those eyes.”

He yawned and stretched before he admitted, “Unfortunately, I think she inherited my nightmares as well.”

His mother frowned. “Poor dear has had a traumatic enough life so far to warrant that, I suppose. Let’s see if we can make up for that?”

“I’m trying really hard not to spoil her,” he lied.

His mother saw right through that, of course. “Why?” she asked, and truly seemed confused as to the utterance of such words. She approached the bed and perched herself on the edge on the side not occupied by the still sleeping child. “Show me what you’ve ordered so far and I’ll tell you what else you might need,” she directed.

He hesitated, for about a ten count, before he did just that. Some of her suggestions made sense and some were simply outlandish, which was to be expected. He was not going to completely remodel the loft, only change a few things around. Every change that he planned to make could be done in a few days, maybe less. Eventually, he might paint the office-turned-bedroom, but he was not keeping them both away from what was to be home to wait for that to be completed.

Angelica woke up around the time he insisted that she did not need a chandelier for lighting in her room. Aside from the fact that it wouldn’t go with the theme he was choosing, it was very impractical to clean and he intended on keeping staffing to a minimum. To him, that meant maybe having a maid in once a week and sorting out day and night nannies as needed. He could cook, kind of, and could manage to at least order groceries on his own, even if he knew his mother and Luisa would likely also stock his fridge, if not Gil as well. Reminders set on his phone would hopefully help keep a schedule of sorts, even if he would not be able to control the inevitable calls to crime scenes at all hours of day and night.

The plan for the day was relatively straightforward. He wanted to be at the loft when the items he ordered were to be delivered, and then start setting up at least the baby gates and maybe redrafting the changes to the office space one more time with a second set of eyes present. They also intended to meet with the family attorneys again, as requested. They needed to officially confirm that Angelica was a legitimate child of the Milton line and make at least preliminary arrangements for both funding and legal protections. Nothing with the loft or the legalities were likely to be finalized in a single day, but they could at least have everything set in motion if nothing else.

Which is why he was more resigned than anything else when it all went to shit.

They made it to the loft by early afternoon after a surprisingly brief stop with the lawyers who may have possibly already had many of the documents drafted and waiting for them. The one he wasn’t positive on was the name change from Monroe to Bright. Solanger argued that, as the child’s legal guardian and parent, it was his right to call her by his own name and it may prevent future issues with schools or other offices. His mother supported it with suggestions of Milton or Whitly if he was uncertain as there were still familial ties to those names for emergencies. He had talked to Gil and the team about this very thing outside of Colette’s earshot, and they had argued that it would serve as an extra layer of separation and protection, but he still felt like he was laying a claim on something that should not be his.

He left that to decide later, with both a mental and physical reminder from his mother that it shouldn’t be too much later as they still had a lot to do. He thought about it all on the car ride back to the loft. He sat up front while his mother sat in the back with Angelica and her car seat making idle comments about ladies should always be awarded such benefits. It was because of this that he was not distracted, or at least as not as distracted as he could have been when they pulled up beside the loft.

Every instinct screamed at him that something was off, and he set his mind to work to find the evidence to support that hypothesis. There was a black van with tinted windows and no markings for any delivery company two spots up and closest to the door. There were two men who were dressed and designed to be perfectly non-descript, one with a blond mess of hair which was leaning against the wall next to the door, and another with a dark undercut that was openly approaching the town car. Nothing else seemed outwardly out of place, save for the woman in a hoodie that started to run towards him as he stepped fully out of the car.

“You live here?” the man closest to him asked. Deep voice, more than a little rough around the edges.

He pretended to be confused, which wasn’t that difficult of a thing to do, and replied, “May I ask who is inquiring?”

The man lunged at him and he realized that he had two options, one that was safest for him but put the car and its occupants at possible risk. With that in mind, he chose the second one and slammed the car door shut with a shouted order to Adolpho of, “Go to Gil!”

He whipped back around in time to receive a fist to his face. He heard the slight squeal of tires as Adolpho pulled out into thankfully light traffic, and he swore he could hear his mother’s screams over even that. He got his arms up to defend against the next blow and felt confident in his refusal to answer the demand of, “Who was in the car?”

It was then that he was reminded that there had been two people waiting for him. He was tossed up against the side of his own building and the question repeated with a punch to the gut punctuating every word for good measure. “My mother and her driver!” he finally gasped in response. 

They would have been able to see only the silhouette of a single adult woman in the back of the car, but likely questioned why he wouldn’t have ridden in the back with her if they knew anything about proper etiquette. “Where is Vanessa Monroe?” one man shouted at the same time as the other wanted to know, “Who is Gil and was Monroe in the backseat?”

“I haven’t talked to Vanessa in years!” he insisted. He made certain he was loud enough for those who began to circle to hear as well. His eyes darted from bystander to bystander, purposefully avoiding the curly brunette in a hoodie, but also purposefully pointing out that they were attracting a crowd.

“Get him in the van, there’s too many witnesses,” the first one growled. It was a turn of events not entirely surprising, but also not entirely welcomed. Not that he had much say in the matter. The grip on his neck was his only warning before his head was slammed back against the brick. Everything went black before he could even catch his breath to argue, not that he felt his audience would have listened anyway.

He next awoke with a splitting headache and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being tied to a chair. The fact that his wakeup call was a slap to the face didn’t help matters much. When he could focus his eyes enough to take in his surroundings, he found them lacking in enlightenment. Off-white walls and dirty gray carpet with the remnants of what looked to be disused and dusty cubicles told him only that he was likely in an office building, but one not currently in use. Even with space at a premium in New York, there were more than a few places that would match the weak description. If he was even still in New York.

The blinds were drawn, but there were faint cracks of orange filtering through which told him it was nearing sunset. He had been taken just after lunch, but didn’t think he had been out quite that long and that opened up far more possibilities as to how far they may have dragged him before deciding on their current location. He rolled his neck and felt the sharp prick of pain that told him he had likely been drugged while already unconscious, which explained the cotton feeling of his tongue atop everything else. The combination of all of these factors added up to the hypothesis that he was so very screwed.

There were three men who stood before him, the two from before and a third with straggly brown hair that must have been the driver. They were a little blurry around the edges, and he tried to concentrate when one of them asked, “Where is Vanessa Monroe?” The voice sounded like the one who liked to punch. Well, the one who liked to gut punch.

He licked his lips to wet them as much as stall. “I told you before, I haven’t talked to Vanessa in years. Maybe three or four now?” he replied with a croak of a voice.

Yep, there was the punch to the stomach. Well, technically a little higher as he felt the pang of it against his lower-most rib on his left side. Diagrams of anatomy and the internal injuries a splintered chip of bone could cause danced across his vision but he pushed them aside for now along with the image of his father ready to lecture him on the possible damage he could be doing to himself with his current life choices.

“She came back to New York for a reason,” the man who he could now see was the one with the undercut told him. The others were relatively silent and based their own actions off of his, so it was possible they were hired thugs, or at least not as high in the hierarchy as the first. “You are her only known contact in the area. She avoided D.C. and headed right here.”

“I don’t know why she would choose me, of all people,” he insisted, hiding the lie in a whole lot of truth. “We had one assignment together and barely made eye contact after.”

“Break his finger,” the man ordered. 

Malcolm opened his mouth to try to reason, despite knowing there was very little chance it would work, or maybe scream. He found he could do neither as a meaty fist was wrapped around his throat to stop him from doing anything even though he was already restrained. He could barely pull a breath in and definitely couldn’t head-butt anyone even if he wanted to. A pull and a pop and he wasn’t sure if the pinky of his right hand was now actually broken, but it was at least dislocated if nothing else. The hand on his throat released and he shouted in a combination of pain, relief, and to release the air that had been pent up in his lungs during the ordeal.

“I don’t know where she is!” he insisted.

“You’re saying you just managed to find the motel room we had tracked her to and then just happened to have a woman in the car with you that you sent away when you saw us?” the man asked. He reached forward and yanked on the damaged appendage to express his thoughts on the matter.

“I went with to the motel room because Special Agent Colette Swanson requested I do so,” he grit out once he was able to. His vision swam now with flashes of white dimming to almost black. At least the adrenaline was helping to push the last of whatever they had given him out of his system enough to help with the half-truths. If they had seen him there, they would have seen her as well. “She was worried about Monroe and wanted a second set of eyes.”

“Why was she worried?” one of the lackeys asked, then looked ashamed for interrupting his boss’s interrogation. At least the part about hierarchy of roles was correct in his profile of the situation, for the little satisfaction that gave him.

“I don’t know! She’s her ex, it could have been anything,” he replied. If Colette was involved, their attention would be turned to her enough to make her life a little less comfortable. If she wasn’t, she had the force of the FBI to back herself up, unlike himself. He was alone. His mother was hopefully with Gil and they were hopefully looking for him but, at the given moment, he was alone and relatively at their mercy. Should that change, he had a handful of cops and his mother’s fury on his side, but he wasn’t sure how much that would actually help.

The hand was at his throat again, squeezing tightly and pushing enough to rock the chair back slightly on its back legs, which was counterproductive to answering when the man demanded, “Who was the woman in the car?”

He made a few gasping noises and the pressure let up, but only barely. “It was my mother, I swear!” He could see they doubted that, and probably wondered why his mother had a driver, which meant they actually knew very little about him. This he could use. “My mother is Jessica Whitly.”

“Damn, for real?” the brunet lackey verified. The main guy apparently didn’t get the reference, so he explained, “Jessica Whitly is like majorly rich, enough to make this job look like chump change. She also married The Surgeon, as in the serial killer. We do not want to mess with her. Who knows how far her or her hubby’s money can reach?”

Definitely hired thugs then, at least the two lackeys. The main guy seemed in on whatever Nessa had gotten herself into, but was possibly a lackey as well, just a higher ranked one with a little more knowledge. The key would be to play into his aspirations of success. Malcolm needed to figure out if he deemed that success to be solely bringing Nessa in, or if he could be swayed with the idea of more power and the financial backing to go with it.

“They didn’t say she was wrapped up with a family with that kind of power,” the main guy muttered as he took a step back. “I follow a lead and it brings me to a damned serial killer? What’s the chance hurting him puts a target on our backs?”

“My mother belongs to one of the oldest and richest families in New York with ties someone like you couldn’t even imagine,” Malcolm tried, and even managed the confident arrogance of a proper Milton. Most of it was true, even if the ties couldn’t be imagined because they had crumbled with the arrest of his father decades ago. It was the idea though, that made the argument, planted a seed that would either grow into an opportunity or shrivel and die and drag him with it. He figured the primary ruling factor would be fear. The fear of failing his superiors versus the fear of what Malcolm’s family could do to him. With that in mind, he added, “As for my father, the police found evidence for twenty-three of his murders in and around our home. That ignores some of what we’ll call ‘family trips’ if you get what I’m saying.” His stomach churned at the words, but he did his best to not outwardly show it.

“How active is the mother?” the guy asked. He was sweating, tiny beads along his hairline that he swiped at angrily. 

The other lackey pulled out his phone and did a search. “Relatively low profile but apparently funds a shit-ton of charities. Could be cover, especially with their past,” he reported. He looked up and questioned, “You more afraid of her retaliation than the boss?”

“I’m not afraid!” the leader snapped. He jerked his shoulders back like the cliché he was and visibly tried to settle himself. “The boss asked me to check out a lead that Monroe came to New York to make contact with this idiot. All we had on him was that he was ex-FBI like her, nothing about this serial killer bullshit.”

Malcolm put forth his most manic grin that he could manage considering the circumstances deciding to play up the crazy angle. He hoped that the taste of blood in his mouth meant there was enough red spattered across his teeth to help with a visual angle as well. “They fired me for being too much like my father,” he offered, doing his best to still temper his tone with arrogance. He knew he had to be careful about his phrasing as he wasn’t actually that good of a liar, especially while his head, throat, and finger all throbbed in pain. “I took out a Sheriff that shot a suspect we were after. I wanted him. I had him. He took him away.”

He watched as the man’s pupils dilated before he jerked his head away. Fear. Good. That’s what he had been after. He could work with fear. As long as he didn’t push it too far and it backfired on him.

The man pointed a slightly shaky finger in his direction before he lowered it abruptly. “He stays there. For now. I need more intel to see if it’s worth dragging ourselves through his bullshit when we can just say the lead dried up and pick things back up at the motel,” he ordered.

Both lackeys nodded, but only one stayed behind to watch him while the other followed the main guy deeper into the office. “Your pop’s really The Surgeon?” he asked as he sat down atop one of the dusty desks nearby. He noticed his suit coat and phone beside the man and really hoped he was that lucky and not hallucinating the items.

“Yep,” he confirmed. He resolved right then and there to never tell his father that he used his near celebrity status to try to weasel out of getting killed.

The man shook his shaggy blond head. “Man, they do not pay us enough,” he gripped.

After that, it was a waiting game. Time was relative to start with, and a little iffy when the world faded in and out at the edges along with the throbbing in his head and hand. Thankfully, the man left with him appeared to truly not think he was a physical threat at the moment, not that he was, and had a short attention span. Soon enough, the phone was back out and he was either scrolling through social media or playing a game, it was hard to tell which from where he was.

With nothing else to do, he began a self-assessment. Pinky was definitely broken now, as well as dislocated from where the phalanges met up with the metacarpal. Given how much it hurt even with the reduced circulation from the rope around his wrist, he was in for an unpleasant time should he be released. Next were his ribs. Nothing was broken there, not yet. Bruised only, but with enough soft tissue damage to the abdomen that the ache there made him more than a little nauseous. His throat was also likely bruised, and slightly swollen from it if the effort to swallow was any sign. Finally, there was his head. Mild concussion, at least, given the vision issues and way he struggled to maintain his thoughts. Not enough to make him pass out again, which was a toss-up as to whether that was beneficial or not.

He paused at the sound of a scraping squeak. It could have been the man shifting on the aged desk, but it seemed to come more from behind him than in front of him. The man must have heard it as he paused his scrolling to look up and around before glaring at Malcolm like it was his fault. 

In the open office space, everything echoed, from the mutters of the two men across the room to the rustling noise behind him. It was there, he was fairly certain of it, all the more so when the man supposedly watching him jumped up and was too slow reaching for his gun. A blur of a navy hoodie swam by him and knocked the weapon away. The fight was a little mismatched given that the man was far larger with far more bulk than the smaller figure, but that smaller figure managed to knock his head against the desk and then kick him away while he was dazed.

A blink, and the hooded person resolved into Vanessa beside him, curls in disarray around her shadowed eyes and knife in hand as she sawed at the ropes that held him. “You with me, Bright?” she panted as the right one broke free. He was correct and the pain surged as his circulation returned. “Bright?” she repeated while he gritted his teeth and flexed his damaged hand.

“I’m good,” he insisted. It was followed by the announcement of, “But the other two are coming back.”

“Of course they are,” she groaned. She handed him the knife to free his other hand while she turned to face off against them to at least stall if nothing else.

It took a couple of tries, mainly because his hand was too swollen and numb to effectively grip what was not much more than a penknife more so than the knife itself reminding him of a different time and a different place, but he managed to slice his way free without even hitting his own skin. This was good as he managed to stand just in time to get tossed down to the floor by the main thug who had originally taken him. “Haven’t seen her in years?” the man spat as he let loose a volley of punches. 

Bright would have questioned why the man chose not to use the gun he had seen him with, but was thankful for small mercies. Also, the holster at his side was empty and there was a discarded pistol nearby, which answered that. Not that he could reach it. Not that he could really focus his eyes on it the way his head rang with the new impact. “Technically, I said I hadn’t spoken to her,” he pointed out in a failed attempt at distraction. When that proved useless, he remembered the knife still in his hand and jabbed it into the nearest bit of flesh and really hoped it wasn’t his own.

The main wailed, but recovered soon enough. What could reasonably be called a tussle occurred, though it was a little one sided as the man already had leverage and Malcolm was already injured. The knife clanked to the side now, and he could almost reach it to try to use it again, only he was dissuaded by the beefy hands around his throat that squeezed as much as used the grip to throttle his head into the thin carpet a few more times. He scrambled to free himself and tugged at the wrists and individual fingers the best he could while still kicking and thrashing to do some additional damage along the way.

It was then that the man caught his already injured hand in one of his own and yanked. Malcolm’s vision whited out again, just for a second, before his body reminded him that the man still had his other hand wrapped around his throat and was pressing with his full body weight and maybe he’d like to fade to black instead of flash to white. He freed his injured hand and managed a few halfhearted swats, but even he knew he was fading fast. 

And then the pressure very abruptly let up.

He lay there for a moment, just trying to breathe past the swelling and pain, before a shadow loomed over him. Vanessa looked down at him and tsked in what seemed to be a combination of derision and sympathy all at once. “Dude, your face is purple. Goes nicely with your throat that’s turning almost black already. You couldn’t remember to break his hyoid? Because he definitely tried to break yours.”

“Broken. Hand,” he gasped.

“You’ve got two,” she smirked, but he could see the concern in her expression anyway. He waved that one at her and saw the moment she noticed the surgery scars on it. “Man, what have you gotten into in the past few years?”

“Could ask-” he started, but it turned into not much more than a wheeze. He tried to push himself more upright, but a surge of pain and a pointed look made him plop back down again.

She shook her head. “Don’t try to talk, you’re going to do more damage than good,” she directed. She sighed and ran a hand through her curls. He noticed she held one of the guns now, but couldn’t remember any shots going off and had no idea what the state of the men who took him was save for at least incapacitated enough not to bother them at the moment. She looked down at him for a moment and he caught the briefest flash of vulnerability. “She’s safe? Please tell me she’s safe?”

He nodded. “Mother. Gil,” he mouthed more than actually spoke, but he watched as her shoulders slumped in relief. 

“I… I couldn’t…” she started, but shook her head as she stopped herself. “This is what’s following me. Well, a small part of it. They finally got this close. I couldn’t let them get to her. Couldn’t let them use her. She’s safer with you, even with your crazy-ass family.”

“Could help,” he tried, stopping when she glared at him for speaking again. Considering it felt like he gargled glass to do so, he could only imagine how he sounded.

“Put me in witness protection? The people after me would find me in a day, maybe less. They’ve got people everywhere,” she told him. “And before you offer your family money to hide out somewhere, you need to know that this is important. I need to bring these assholes down, but they go deep, Bright. So many layers. So many people hurt. So many people who don’t even know what they’re working for at this point.” She was telling the truth, or at least what she considered the truth. Every bit of her broadcast that much loud and clear, from the steadiness of her eyes to the set of her lips.

He swallowed painfully and asked, “Tell?” 

She shook her head again. “You are safe and will stay that way if you’re not involved. I honestly think they fired you for your connection to me as much as punching the Sheriff. Sorry about that, by the way,” she winced. “I might have laid a few breadcrumbs at that point, tried to have a contingency plan for Angie in case it was needed. You out and away from those assholes? You had your family for a cushion, and apparently more given what I’ve seen these past few days.” She patted his cheek with surprising softness and it reminded him of the way she’d always pick up his favorite when it was her turn to grab the food and even found one of the teas he liked in the middle of nowhere after he gutted the flowerpot for her. “They would have either made you do things you couldn’t come back from, or used you as a scapegoat. You’ve been through enough shit and we both know it. You deserve this second chance.”

“Ang-” he tried.

“You really never know when to shut up, even when it’s for your own good, do you?” she huffed. She swiped angrily at her face before any actual tears could fall. “Angelica is my life. She is my heart. I need to do this to make a better world for her. And the only way I can make sure she gets a chance to live in that world is to give her up.”

“Why me? Why not Colette?” he stuttered out in a wheeze.

Vanessa bit her lip and looked so very vulnerable for a moment. A breath, and her emotions were neatly tucked away again. “Collie is too close to things on the inside. She firmly belongs in the institution that is the FBI. She has ties to some of the people I want to expose. She would probably turn on them if she knew the truth, but we need good people there to pick up the pieces when this all comes down. Well, that, and she can barely pee without them knowing how much with as close of tabs as they’re keeping on her right now.” Another breath, this one of resolve. “As for why you? You are her father. I knew the moment you knew that, you wouldn’t be able to give her up because you are a good person, whether you believe it or not. She deserves at least one decent parent. You’ll give her that. You’ll give her that and so much more.”

He wanted to protest, to promise her that he could help them both. But the moment he opened his mouth to do so, all that came out was a wet gasp. He tried again, and could barely get a trickle of air into his lungs.

“Shit!” she exclaimed. “Your throat is swelling up, more than I thought it would. Slow, shallow breaths, Bright. In through your nose and out through your mouth like with your panic attacks. See if you can do like a four-count?” He tried to follow her directions and managed to at least get some air in. She glanced around furtively. “Is that your phone? Next to your fancy jacket?”

He nodded and tried to watch her move to grab it but she was just out of visual range. She was back in a moment and handed it to him to unlock while she crouched next to him. He did, and she took it back. “Gil, right? You sent your mom to him, so he can be trusted?” Another nod, and she clicked on that contact.

She put it on speaker and set it down next to him. It rang precisely once before he heard a familiar and slightly panicked voice demand, “Bright? Is that you?”

“He’s here, but he isn’t looking so good,” Vanessa replied, which Bright would have told her was a bad idea if he was able to. Wrong phrasing, especially with his surrogate father figure.

“What did you do to him?” Gil demanded.

Vanessa rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded like, “Overprotective much?” Louder, she replied, “I saved his sorry ass from the idiots that took him. Figured he deserved at least that much, plus Angie needs her father alive and kicking. Not so much kicking ass as those were some sorry fight skills. I know he knows better; I have watched him train and have even trained with him. Is he really that out of practice, or has he managed to injure himself that much in the past few years?”

“Vanessa Monroe,” Gil guessed, and he sounded resigned, worried. “Where are you? Where is Malcolm Bright?”

“I’m here,” Malcolm wheezed, or at least tried to.

Vanessa rolled her eyes again. “I told you not to talk! You can barely breathe. Idiot.” The last part was said almost fondly, or possibly he was projecting. “He’s hurt. Throat doesn’t look too good. He will need medical treatment but, if he’s still like what he used to be like, good luck making him stay.”

“Where are you?” Gil asked again. Definitely resigned now. 

Vanessa rattled off a street address, complete with suite number. “You need to know that the guys you’re going to find him with. I did that. He landed a few punches, but that’s it. You can add it to the list of charges I’m sure you’ve got going against me at this point. I’m going to leave his phone with him and he can text you once I’m gone. Hopefully, he’s not dumb enough to call you back but this is Bright we’re talking about.”

She disconnected the call at that and handed him the phone. “Guys?” Malcolm asked. From what he could see, they were incapacitated only. Two were twitching even, but looked to have a long way back to consciousness. The argument could very easily be made that they were injured in the altercation to free himself, but he had the sinking feeling that wasn’t going to be enough.

“I can’t risk that they heard about Angelica. I can’t risk that they’ll survive and make her a target,” was all she said. With that, she stood. He heard the distinct sound of three shots, and knew she had eliminated that risk. She turned back to him one last time after she dropped the gun atop one of the desks. “I’m sorry. You can see why… Just… Be good to her? Give her all the things I couldn’t? Take her to Disney, buy her expensive stuff, spoil her rotten. But, please, tell her that I love her? Tell her that I love my little Angel very much and I always will? Tell her that she’s safe now? She gets her life back.”

With that, she started to leave, but Malcolm held up a hand to stop her. She had brought his jacket with his phone and he dug in one of the pockets to find what he wanted her to have. “Got scared,” he wheezed as he handed her the little embroidered shield. “Thinks this means safe.”

Nessa took it with hands that he knew she would deny trembled. She clutched it tight with her right and swiped angrily at her eyes with the left. “Rich people…” she huffed, but he caught the way her lips tilted up into a smile. She tucked it into the pocket of her jeans and pulled up the hood on her sweatshirt one more time. “Keep her safe for me?” she asked, but didn’t wait for an answer before she finally walked away. 

Malcolm hit the button to stop recording on his phone.

He waited until he heard the same door she must have entered by squeak again to announce her exit. He then waited a twenty count, maybe more as time was a little iffy, before he tried to push himself upright again. Pain from every injury surged to life and it took a few tries and a lot of careful breathing exercises to even get himself into a seated position let alone standing upright but there was no one there to tell him to stay down so he didn’t have to feign listening to them. He leaned heavily against one of the desks and tried to take in the scene as much as he could, to find anything that might need to be taken care of before Gil and the others came.

He didn’t bother with the guns or the knife, but found all three cellphones and readily erased what he could and then smashed them for good measure on the off chance they had tried what he himself had done minutes or hours ago. After that, the whole breathing really was becoming far harder than it should. He knew he hadn’t helped matters with the amount of moving around he had just done, but it had needed to be done. Air barely trickled past his swollen throat and his ribs protested standing still let alone attempting to move and that was not even counting the dizziness that he knew was from lack of oxygen as much as the head wound. He decided to sit down, just for a moment. One of the blinds hadn’t been fully closed on the far side of the suite and he knew he was not on the ground floor of wherever he had been brought to. The thought of attempting the stairs was too much and he didn’t even have the energy to look for an elevator. Gil had been given a location and Gil would find him. And, if he didn’t come soon enough, Malcolm could make the attempt once he had a little more energy to do so.

He swore he only blinked, and red and blue lights flashed through the cracks of the blinds. He blinked again, and there was the pounding of footsteps and shouts that announced the presence of the NYPD and FBI, which he took to mean Colette had joined the raid. There was a hand on his cheek and slid down to rest where his neck met shoulder, careful to avoid what he assumed was already some colorful bruising based on Vanessa’s earlier comments. 

“Kid, you alright?” the owner of the hand asked. Gil. Gil was there. Gil being there meant he was safe, or at least safer, and could stop fighting that pesky unconsciousness thing. He opened his eyes a little more to take in the familiar form, and nodded. “Because you really don’t look like it.”

“Angelica? Mom?” he rasped. His voice wasn’t much more than a breath and not much louder. It felt like the glass shards from before had grown and taken up residence, slicing and dicing anytime he tried to take anything more than the most shallowest of breaths.

“They’re safe,” Gil assured him.

JT appeared at his side, towered over him, really. “Monroe was right, man. Don’t try to talk because it hurts just listening to you,” he chided.

There were shouts from people clearing the area and he knew they would need to go floor by floor for however large the place actually was. “Let’s get you to a medic, okay?” Gil asked, and he knew it wasn’t really a question. 

That was fine though, as he didn’t have the strength or energy to protest. He didn’t really have the strength or energy to make it to what he was certain was the waiting ambulance on his own either, but that was also fine as he wasn’t on his own. He had his team with him. JT pried him up from the desk where he had slumped and Dani took up position on his other side. Gil stayed behind to wrap up the scene and he could hear him call out orders as he was escorted out by his bodyguards/babysitters. He didn’t remember much of the trip down, only the pinprick at the back of his hand, the rush of something cool and warm at the same time, and then closing his eyes.

He knew he was in a hospital before he even fully woke up. The rough sheets and smell of antiseptic mixed with the somewhat regular beeping and the too cold liquid being pumped into his veins told him that. He had been changed into the latest patient fashion and placed in a bed with too flat of pillows under what appeared to be a powerful air vent. He had a nasal canula that fired oxygen up his nostrils, but his jaw and lips felt like he had been on a mask prior the way they didn’t quite move the way he expected them to.

There was a sound next to him so he tried to turn his head in that direction. He mostly saw the guardrail of the bed, but could just make out shapes that looked like human figures. One of those figures, the smallest one, ran right towards him, her shoes on the linoleum making tiny pitter-patter sounds with each uneven step.

“Angelica, sweetie, where are you-? Ah, Papa is awake,” his mother’s voice sounded from too far away before she was suddenly at his side. He opened his mouth to verify they were okay, but his mother stopped him with a perfectly manicured finger to his lips. “Any aggravation might cause permanent damage, and that includes talking.” She removed her finger only to stroke her hand through his hair in a way that never failed to calm him down.

He frowned in frustration, but then rolled his eyes when JT appeared on his other side and commented, “Our dreams have come true! Minimum one week of silence! Dani doesn’t think you can do it.”

“No, I said he’d do it if we presented it as a challenge but, otherwise, he’d want to give us a full rundown of everything as soon as he woke up.” She elbowed him out of the way to look down at Bright and smiled. “And now you know about the challenge and will let me win, right? I’ve got twenty bucks riding against Tarmel on this.”

He huffed a laugh and then winced as even that hurt. He lifted his hands, surprised to find they had not been in restraints, and glared at the way the pinky and the ring finger of his right hand were in splints. He had a vague memory of the second finger being popped out of place during the fight, but had hoped it could just be slid right back in with minimal fuss. He could work around that though, and quickly manipulated what he could into what he could manage.

“Of course, the dude knows sign language,” JT griped. He turned to his usual partner and asked, “You still got that app from the Meyer’s case?”

JT stopped whatever else he was going to say when his mother readily signed back to him. Off of his look, she explained, “He was non-verbal for a while after, well, after. Not to mention the times any and all noise was too much for him. We adapted.” After a quick verification that she could share with the others, she translated, “He wants to know if we’re okay and if there are any leads on where, I believe he means Vanessa, went? He’s both out of practice and working with splints and a previously damaged hand, forgive me if it’s hard to make this out.” She glanced down as though something had tugged on her sleeve and said, “Did you want up so you can see him, sweetie? Here you go.”

“Miss Monroe is in the wind,” Gil confirmed from where he walked up behind where Jessica now held Angelica. The brightly colored outfit she wore clashed with his mother’s more demure tones, but neither seemed to mind. Gil frowned when Malcolm signed back positively at the news. “Colette still wants her for child endangerment, and she’s added murder charges unless you can attest to the three deaths at the office building being in self-defense?” The last part was said pointedly, and included signs that indicated he would do what he could, but he wasn’t given a lot to work with.

“He says it was self-defense,” his mother translated for him again. Gil would have understood, but Dani and JT were still pulling something up on her phone. 

He snapped his working fingers in request, but Dani shook her head. “There is no way I’m going to let you see what’s on my phone. Last time you took JT’s it took three hours to get it back.”

Gil readily handed over his own, and Malcolm pulled up the speech to text app and made a few modifications. “She was scared. They had been hunting her, but she managed to keep them away from Angelica so far. Not sure they knew she existed.”

“They knew,” a new voice replied from near the door. From the looks of it, the others hadn’t expected her arrival. Colette raised an eyebrow instead of waved, but he took it as the greeting it was. “I’m assuming they have ties to people I work with. Nessa had requested maternity leave right before she quit instead. I made it worse by mentioning the healthy baby girl when Winters asked. It’s the only way they could have tracked her to you; they got into the files.”

“What do you think she had on them?” he typed.

“Money laundering in the least, taking bribes,” she sighed. “I tried to dig a little deeper, but got an anonymous message not to right before my tires were slashed and my office had an unfortunate electrical fire. I got the message and backed off, or at least backed off officially. About a year of careful behavior later, I started getting invited with the Big Boys again. They haven’t dragged me into anything yet, I know they’re keeping an eye on me, but that means I can keep an eye on them as well.”

“Vanessa wasn’t sure she could trust you,” he admitted through the oddly melodic electronic voice.

“That’s because Nessa is smart,” Colette replied. “I don’t know how much I’m being tracked right now, especially on this. It’s why I left my phone in the car and am wearing clothes I literally purchased today.” He noticed her lack of jewelry and that she was down to a simple blouse and slacks combo that wasn’t quite her usual style. Her purse was missing as well, only the keys to the rental car in her hand.

“Would you have helped her?” Dani asked before he got the chance to.

“I wish I could say yes, but I don’t know. Now? Probably. Then? Probably not.” She paused and licked her lips before she continued, one of the few nervous tells that she ever permitted in front of him. “You need to lock down the adoption papers. Seal them. Separate Angelica from Nessa as much as you can to give them both a chance. I just received another so-called anonymous message with a fake trail leading to an orphanage in Detroit, backdated to six weeks ago. It’ll contrast with the one I made that leads to Albany, but that might actually help in the long run. She did her part, now do yours to keep the kid safe.”

The kid in question was attempting to free herself from her grandmother’s hold and bodily climb into the bed with him. He held the phone out for Gil to take it back and then his arms out to accept the child, much to his mother’s consternation. “You have broken fingers, bruised ribs, and a concussion, not to mention the wires attached to you and bruising everywhere. Do you really think it’s in your best interest to hold her right now?”

Angelica proved that she understood words, even if she did not produce them. Her lower lip stuck out, and then quivered, and she batted her pale eyes up at anyone and everyone who gave her a second glance. Gil rolled his much darker eyes and lifted her up and away from the arms that held her while Dani adjusted the blankets and lines to make room for her. There was one close call with a knee to his stomach that Dani managed to block, and then his daughter curled up beside him like she belonged there. He angled his head to watch as her face instantly morphed into a giant smile, and knew everyone had been played.

“You are going to spoil her rotten,” JT said approvingly.

“The way it should be,” Colette agreed. She tore her gaze away from the child to attempt her usual glare in Malcolm’s direction. “Get your paperwork sorted because the universe can’t help you if anything happens to her,” she ordered as sternly as she could manage. Then, with a mischievous smile so few ever knew she could create, she turned her attention back to the bed’s other occupant and said, “When you do talk, I hope your first word is ‘Disney’ or maybe a demand for something ridiculous like diamond earrings.” With that, she offered one last nod and left, and he had the feeling there would be no traces of her at the precinct when they returned.

“Did she just smile?” JT verified. “I didn’t know the woman could smile.”

Dani’s eyes widened in mock fear. “It was a little scary,” she agreed.

Gil just shook his head. “Children. I work with children,” he muttered, but Malcolm could hear the fondness to his tone.

“Speaking of children, I believe at least two of them need a nap,” his mother said pointedly. It was fair as he was exhausted even though he had only been awake for a matter of minutes. He didn’t feel like he had any sedatives being pumped into him, maybe some painkillers given the slight lightheadedness, but he was simply tired and clearly showed it. His mother’s hand was in his hair again, just for a moment, before she repeated the action on the child snuggled into his side. “At least one of you missed naptime and the other can always use more sleep.”

Gil tucked the blankets around them both, much to the amusement of Dani and JT. “Rest up, kid,” he directed. “You’re here for at least the night and we’re on watch for the duration.”

He didn’t lie about that part. Malcolm wasn’t positive which hospital he had been taken to as they all looked the same after a while, but it must have been close to the precinct. Any time he opened his eyes, one of the three of them was there in some schedule that was clearly predetermined. His mother had eventually begged off which meant it was Dani who happened to have the luck of explaining to him that he wasn’t just on a liquid diet for the time being but, for the night at least, it was clear liquids only and not of the alcoholic type. Unfortunately, that also meant no tea or coffee and the lack of caffeine meant he kept falling back asleep despite his best efforts.

His mother had taken Angelica with her when she left, with an escort from Gil to make sure she got home safely. Malcolm did not doubt that the house would be under watch from officers personally vetted by Gil himself for at least the night, if not longer, and resigned himself to the fact his own place likely would be as well.

He wanted to go home bright and early the next morning, but it was not to be. He had to wait for the doctor, who wanted to check on one more thing and didn’t come back until Gil was there with an impartial stenographer that apparently even knew some sign language to take his report as she asked if his profanity should be part of the official record, and then they had to find the doctor again. Every time someone left to do that, they’d come back looking at their phones and shaking their head, usually with a grin. He finally got fed up and used the tablet Ainsley had dropped off for him to write out a request as to what was so funny. The larger keyboard was far easier to use than that of a phone with his fingers in the state they were in, and easier to understand than sign language for most but not all involved. It was clear something was being hidden from him and he was determined to find out what.

“Ainsley has been live-blogging your mother and daughter’s day,” Dani said easily enough. She offered him a brief glance at her screen but, once again, refused to let him have the phone. Sure enough, was a text thread from Ainsley. He didn’t want to know how the two women came to share phone numbers as he was certain it would end poorly for him. He felt silly for getting so worked up over such a little thing, but she let it slide and even offered, “Why don’t I go grab the next nurse unlucky enough to pass by and try to get an actual time out of her?”

He signed his thanks as she knew that one and she left again, phone still in hand, screen still scrolling with messages.

It was a matter of minutes before she returned again, a cheerful nurse in tow. “I’m sorry, hon,” the other woman said. “It looks like Doctor Reyzen approved your release hours ago, but the message never got communicated.” She was moving about too quickly for him to get a clear read on her, unhooking him from the IV and the pulse-ox. She lowered the side of the bed so that he could get out a little easier, and then jotted a note into his electronic file. It seemed that was that as she handed Dani some written instructions and his discharge papers, said her goodbyes, and left again in the blink of an eye.

“Should we get you home?” Dani offered once the other woman left. At his nod, she tossed him the overnight bag his mother had left for him, and placed the paperwork beside it. “You get changed and I’ll text your mom that we’re on our way.” He typed out a request to stop by to check on Sunshine along the way since clearly Angelica was already taken care of, and she rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Pretty sure Gil has already since your mother truly hates that bird but, yeah, we can make a stop,” she agreed.

When they pulled up to the building that housed his loft, he thought he saw a car that looked suspiciously like JT’s parked less than a block down. It was a common enough make and model, so he brushed it off for the time being. That was, he brushed it off until he opened the door at the top of the stairs to see just how many people were waiting for him inside. 

Dani had carried his overnight bag for him, which meant he did not have his tablet in his hands. His phone was in his pocket, but he quickly signed and mouthed the words, “Set up?”

“Literally, bro,” JT agreed as he stepped forward. “As in we set things up for you. A lot of them. Your mom hired people for some of the heavy lifting, but we did the rest.” Tally beamed at his side and behind them stood Gil, Jessica, and even Ainsley who held a smiling Angelica.

He stepped back to allow Bright a clear view of everything they had managed in so short of time. The first and foremost was the staircase to the second level as it was right there in front of him. A safety gate had been installed at both the top and the bottom, and the open slats had been closed up on the far side. Even the railings appeared to have been replaced with something still tasteful, but with far less risk of little fingers to get caught in. 

A highchair had been placed next to a small table with coordinating chairs nestled between the kitchen and living room, and though the wall of weaponry remained, he noticed the locks appeared significantly upgraded. The handful of antiques that had been on the low shelves lining the windows had been moved atop the bookshelves for now, and he would need to figure out a more permanent place for them later. He turned slowly to face where his bed had been to find the bookcases and shelving from his office had been moved there instead.

“We tried to keep to the original design you had shown me,” his mother advised from his side. She then waggled her head and her hands at the same time when she admitted, “There were a few minor changes, but most were to keep things to code.” 

“Well, that, and you hadn’t definitively decided on color schemes beyond bedding for upstairs so I did,” Ainsley cut in, which explained the faint smell of paint. “I know you prefer to be all dark and broody up there, but you can be broody with some style.” It was then that he realized that the large and admittedly violent paintings had been removed, though not yet replaced. They were heirlooms, and he had the feeling they were to be bequeathed to a museum and not given to his sister for her own far airier loft.

He raised an eyebrow at Ainsley as it was yet further proof that their definitions of style did not always line up. She gestured towards the stairs, and then outright laughed as he tried to figure out how to open the first gate. Gil showed him while JT commiserated that they were not always intuitive. Tally pointed out that might have been the point to at least slow down curious little hands if nothing else.

Once shown how to work the first one, he managed the second one on his own. Strangely, the smell of paint was not that much stronger upstairs versus downstairs, and he peeked his head into his former office to find out why. Only the woodwork had been painted, just the window frame and the molding at the top and bottom of the walls. The walls themselves had been wallpapered instead. They were an admittedly tasteful almost watercolor-like amalgam of blues and greens with a splash of purple, which Angelica had proven to be her preferred colors, at least so far. Both the toddler bed he had chosen as well as what he was willing to bet was a pullout couch were set up, each in matching hues that also coordinated with a valance over the window as he had told his mother he did not feel long draperies and small children were a good mix. The walls were also decorated with framed pictures of a mixture of knights and dragons and what appeared to be fairies, and the existing built-in light fixtures remained, only with upgraded shades.

“I still think a chandelier would have been lovely,” his mother sighed.

“Ooh! Even just a little one? With glass and faux pearl accents? We could still do that!” Ainsley agreed enthusiastically. He signed his denial of the request and she pouted at him. Seeing that had absolutely no effect as he had grown immune to her ways, she turned the pout on Angelica instead. “Wouldn’t you like a shiny chandelier? Pretty and delicate, just like you?”

She received a giggle for her troubles, an almost noise but mainly just a gleeful smile that accompanied it. He turned to the others to find JT mouthing the word chandelier as though it had personally offended him, and Gil and Tally looking contemplative as they discussed whether it would be too much and should he just totally spoil her right from the onset. He shook his head again and Dani pointed out, “You know your mom has keys to your place and will probably just put it in while you’re out, right?”

He narrowed his eyes at her because she had now given his mother an idea. The fact that she narrowed her eyes right back meant she knew full well what she had done.

He glanced at the former guest room that was now to be his bedroom and reluctantly agreed that his sister’s choices were not horrible. His bed and bedding remained the same and he assumed that meant down to the restraints though they must have been tucked away. His usual dresser and armoire had been relocated with their complementary dark woods, but the walls had been given the wallpaper treatment as well, something his mother always did prefer over paint now that he thought of it. A light charcoal gray with pinstripes of a paler and almost shinier gray as accents now decorated the area, though his usual chairs were tucked in the corners. The attached bath had thankfully barely been touched beyond what might have been a new towel set that coordinated with the bedding scheme added to the racks.

He gave them all his adamant thanks the best that he currently could, and was about to offer dinner only to be beaten to the punch by his mother. Soup for him and something far hardier for the others was incoming, which meant he let Dani lead him to his newly stocked fridge to show him the pre-prepped smoothie ingredients as well as how to blend them properly. There were even neatly labeled cups, a large one for him and a tiny one for Angelica, that he had the feeling were gifts from his sister, or possibly Luisa. 

Dani went so far as to start to make one for him. When he questioned it, she snorted, “I saw what you ate, or should I say didn’t eat, at the hospital. You need more than soup to keep up with a soon to be three-year-old.” She poured some of the concoction into his cup, and a tiny bit into the smaller one as well. He went to offer it to his daughter, but Tally took it out of his hands and did so instead. 

“You need to heal,” Tally said as she scooped up Angelica and placed her in the highchair. “Your ribs and tiny little knees are probably not going to be friends for a few days. Let us help, and know that you are not alone.”

“She means that literally,” JT chimed in. He scooped a finger through the remnants left in the blender and popped it into his mouth. He made a face of pleased surprise before he added. “I know you want to stay here tonight at this ritzy place versus your mom’s ritzy place, but you ain’t doing it by yourself.” When Malcolm moved to protest, he was cut off with a wave of a slightly sticky hand and, “Neither one of you are talking right now, and you are literally this way because you were attacked outside of this very place by armed thugs that want your baby momma dead.”

Gil wandered over and physically placed the smoothie in his hands. “Your mother wants to upgrade your security system even though they never made it that far. You’re getting extra patrols whether you like it or not, and one of us will probably be here with you until at least you are allowed to talk again,” he said bluntly. 

“I can talk,” he protested mainly because he could. It hurt and sounded horrible and probably proved Gil’s point more than his own.

Gil, for his part, shoved a straw into the smoothie and raised an eyebrow at him until he took a cool, sweet, and admittedly therapeutic sip. It was nearly enough to satisfy his usual sweet tooth, and the cold definitely soothed his abused throat. Gil waited for him to take another one before he said, “I doubt that Vanessa is a threat, at least to you and Jessica, but she might bring others your way if she tries to stop by. The patrols have been told to keep an eye out for her primarily as a witness to a crime and to stop anyone following her or making a move on your place.”

He highly doubted Vanessa would be dumb enough to risk her child, not after everything she did to get her to safety, but he dutifully nodded along. He hated the idea of being watched, even by cops, and took refuge in the fact that both upstairs bedrooms now had shades that could be drawn if needed. The main level was hard enough to see in, but the top should be remotely more secure.

His mother chose that moment to hustle over to him. “Katia was willing to come over tonight to assist you and your little Angel, but apparently you have other volunteers. We will need to sit down and map out a contract for her and make arrangements for her both to have access to your loft and for backup care to be in place should she be in class when you are inevitably called away to solve a case only you can manage.”

“Do I get a say in any of this?” he signed after putting down the smoothie.

Dani placed it right back into his hands, but it was Ainsley who said, “Of course you do. You get to say thank you to your awesome friends and family for being there and thinking up all of these incredibly thoughtful ways to help.”

He rolled his eyes, but dutifully signed and said, “Thank you.” His voice was like gravel and he had said it out loud mainly to prove to them that he would be doing things his own way, but all of that was overshadowed by the thump of a child-sized smoothie cup being set down loudly enough to catch his attention in time to see Angelica herself sign the same.

“Did she…” JT started to ask.

Ainsley nodded easily enough and strode over to stand next to the highchair and offer her hand for a high-five. The gesture was returned readily enough before Angelica returned to slurping her smoothie. “We’ve been working it today. Well, I’ve been working on it today. Stressing words and simple signs, when they should be used, all that.” Off the looks she received, she made a face of the less than impressed. “Don’t think Mal here is the only one with fancy degrees.”

It was a start. The communication, the decorating, the stocking of shelves, all of it was a sign of the start of a new chapter in his life. A chapter that was going to be messy and complex and have both good days and bad. A chapter that he most decidedly was not going to miss.

**Epilogue:**

The day had gone off without a hitch. Angelica’s third birthday of life and first to be celebrated as a Bright was tame by his mother’s standards, but just right as per his own. Cake and ice cream and a trip to the museum to see all of the huge suits of armor and knightly wares followed by a trip to the park to run off energy to her heart’s content. 

His mother had gifted the child with fancy clothes that would coordinate beautifully with the mudpies she currently had a preference in making, and his sister had gifted her with a ridiculous number of tiny shoes. Dani, Tally, JT, and Edrisa had all given variations of coloring books and washable markers and crayons, and Gil had gotten her a case of little classic-style Matchbox cars that she had spent the evening running up and down any available surface. It was the gift delivered right before bedtime that was the most telling: the buzz of the door that signaled the delivery of a small bouquet of flowers, the white and blue blooms currently residing in a sturdy vase atop the dresser in his daughter’s room.

“Flowers?” Angelica asked. She still did not speak as often as other children her age and occasionally went long hours or even days without making a sound when stressed, but the rest of her development was right on track.

There had been no card with them, only a tiny figurine of a glittery angel holding a single heart. “Those are from you mommy,” he told her with certainty.

Angelica cuddled into him and her little bottom lip trembled. “I miss mommy,” she admitted.

“I know, baby, I know,” he consoled her. He then pulled out one final gift for her, one he had debated giving her earlier and then not at all, but knew it was the right time. It was a simply little satin heart, similar to the ones stitched up tight inside her favorite stuffed bear, that fit in the palm of her hand.

She looked at him quizzically and he positioned her fingers over the slight lump in the middle. There, in the quiet of the room, beneath the softly glowing ridiculous chandelier his mother had sneakily installed, she pressed the heart and the room filled with a voice familiar to them both.

“I love my little Angel very much, and I always will,” Vanessa’s words from months before came back to life.

Angelica’s eyes widened in wonder and then she gripped the heart in as tight of a fist as she could manage while wrapping her arms around him. He held her close and promised, “Your mommy loves you so much, and so does your daddy. Never forget that, okay, Angel?”

“Never,” she agreed.

The past few months had been far from smooth, and the years ahead would undoubtedly be less so. That was fine though, and neither one of them had to manage them alone.


End file.
